Like a cross is worn on sinners,
Around my neck, hangs a noose.
Justify the unsightly deed, I cannot,
But be completely assured,
It is of resurrection
Of which I am guilty.
And that be, of love.
Throw stones if your pockets are full
Only earned, if none has been thrown at yourself.
Commit me to prevail
And I will tell the truth, in all honesty.
Yet, why won't men honor such sacrifice?
Being that the height and weight and breath of where I cannot reach
Is the altitude of their convictions.
If I am an adulterer, so be it.
I unselfishly admit, myself,
That it was of my own doing, and not influenced by the other party.
That control wasn't my ally,
Rather my enemy in simplest form.
In addition, creed, wasn't on my side.
Righteous in a shapened womb.
I earnestly paid the devil handsomely
For one, single, solitary night of passion.
If this does not make me human,
Then I don't know what else does.
To err, is to be alive. A mistake, not.
Honoring my only vow.
To never transform myself into a living corpse.
This, I will never be
No matter how much tempted by pure laziness.
And regular routine.
Yes! Call me by my sin!
I yearned with no more an ounce of strength
Of any hot-blooded woman of right and praise in her heart.
To truly feel a man. And for him, to feel back.
So much, did I want to touch sweet adoring warmth
Under my rocking pelvis.
Oh, it had been so drafty and encumbered like an unexplored cave.
To feel such kisses from lips
As succulent and moist and juicy as ripened imported wine
Feel what lovers of transient time;
Be that of Romeo and Juliet, of Caesar and Cleopatra.
Felt to be pregnant of seed,
of creation.
My only failure is that I will be highly scolded;
As the mold that grows in suitable science-like conditions,
The golden ring that suits my fourth finger
Will reap into ivy,
And not a faithful eye, not one,
Will be burdened to look
Into mine.
Label it not only a love affair,
But of desperation,
Of need.
To intertwine like spools of thread.
Like liquid fire, two souls melding into one.
Is the validation I needed
To reassure myself, that I am not only a dress,
But a woman.
Guilty, am I?
Not, I plea.
Sure, liable, am I
For defying constitutional freedom
For regret doesn't burden by thoughts
Because I now feel.
Feel!
whole, complete;
As if I were the sun and moon
Shifting into one.
Glorious. Proud.
Husband, of mine
Waves of depressed thoughts
Drown and kill my past joy.
Oblivious, he is to my recent state.
A living dead of flesh, no emotions
To call me human.
And as he sleeps side by side,
Spooning against my silhouetted form as close
As my own shadow makes love to me
In the mixture of sun and shade,
His skin touches my skin
As an insect would,
crawling with a cold, steady walk.
I am his concubine
A slave to his fists and resolutions.
I am imprisoned not behind bars,
But by a deep abyss from where
I do not have enough strength to swim.
I am a mannequin,
My hands molded to my sides straight as arrows.
Weak in transition,
Change - I do not dare.
And so the cycle completes, then begins again.
For my soul is his - a thread on a spool of restitution.
And then, like every night before,
I close my eyes. Bite my lip.
Tremble, yet enough for him to feel;
And sleep quietly next to my enemy
Of which I gave up the right to be that
of husband.