p e n u m b r a (discontinued)

Chapter 8: Love is a Crime

"Whenever you're ready Ms. Masterson." Mr. Wright has a reassuring tone as he allows me to take the stage. It's been a month in the school year, and through this whole month I have taken every opportunity to avoid this very moment. But Mr. Wright will not allow it any longer, and I can see him itching with excitement in his seat, waiting patiently for me to perform. This piece took a very emotional toll for me to write, and I am hesitant with sharing it. But there's no backing out now, so I humbly take a very deep breath and begin.

"Love is a crime,

a horrible,

inconceivable,

unforgivable crime.

Forgive me God for such a sin,

Forgive me God.

Forgive me

for tearing my lips apart

and claiming that the emotions I feel

are harmless.

Forgive me

for claiming that the emotions I feel

are pure,

or at least an albicant sort of purity.

Oh God! Forgive me,

for having the audacity

to claim that the emotions I feel

are normal.

I deserve the pain.

I deserve to have

those eyes staring at me in disgust,

crawling

up and down my body,

deciding that I am filthy.

Exposing my pretenses,

and my seraphim costume.

Filthy for believing

that age is a but a number,

that age is insignificant

in the realm of emotional healing.

Filthy for believing

that a theocracy

judging my insides as well as my outsides

is a figment of society's imagination

and daydreams of the past

that are long gone.

Filthy for believing

that there are no rules in love.

That no one can tell me how to feel.

That no one can make me express myself

in a way that fits their perfect crystal clear image.

Forgive me God,

for being so foolish.

For believing that fairy tales existed.

For believing

that there is an intricate,

inviolable,