Great is thy faithfulness echoes in my head as the light around me fades and the silence intensifies. My instinct is to flee into some make believe world of my own or another's making. It seems the hardest thing to be is to just be. And so I find myself in flights of fancy, subconciously trying to avoid a conference with my King. I hide from laying myself bare, knowing that you see beneath this epidermal mask through to the throbbing, beating, bleeding core that yearns to be known yet acts as if the antithesis of that is more desirable. Driven by fear my being shrinks from the touch of love as if it would expose, humiliate and take advantage of the weaknesses, the cracks, in my existence. Love terrifies me.
Though it is a solace that frees me from a captivity of my own making, I seek refuge in the dream that Hollywood abuses me in. The fantasy that prods and pokes at my not so perfect body, laughs at my failures, and covers up my wounds with sickly sweet smiles that cause cavities in my soul. This is what I run to. I hide in the world where everyone loves me as long as I am loveable and I play pretend over tea parties where we soak our minds in a brew of poison that I willingly swallow. It demands my all and I give it until I bleed green bills and gold and cry tears of the blood of young women who never did quite make it. All this to hide from love. An oxymoronic life that seeks the one thing that it refuses to accept.
Until caught in the arms of one who drags me kicking and screaming into the light. Who, despite my best efforts, will not let me go, will not give up. Quietly as a child I lie in those arms and allow myself to be rocked to sleep....that is until I decide to learn to run again.
Though it is a solace that frees me from a captivity of my own making, I seek refuge in the dream that Hollywood abuses me in. The fantasy that prods and pokes at my not so perfect body, laughs at my failures, and covers up my wounds with sickly sweet smiles that cause cavities in my soul. This is what I run to. I hide in the world where everyone loves me as long as I am loveable and I play pretend over tea parties where we soak our minds in a brew of poison that I willingly swallow. It demands my all and I give it until I bleed green bills and gold and cry tears of the blood of young women who never did quite make it. All this to hide from love. An oxymoronic life that seeks the one thing that it refuses to accept.
Until caught in the arms of one who drags me kicking and screaming into the light. Who, despite my best efforts, will not let me go, will not give up. Quietly as a child I lie in those arms and allow myself to be rocked to sleep....that is until I decide to learn to run again.
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