He laughs, Lord, but he has no idea.
That horrible feeling of I must.
Was it for the affection?
Or simply out of lust?
The imprisonment of
I just can’t get enough.
Contentment escapes me
even when there’s love.
Or was it even me?
As now I can finally see
the pleasure love had
to have control of me.
Why must one who has
every part of my flesh
insist on my sanity
not belong to myself?
And regardless of his intent,
where was my control?
It was my body.
It was my soul.
Even now I can feel that fear
that seemed to cripple me.
A fear so manipulated
it secured with need.
This new voice
has so much faith in me.
I hope he’s right
Because I still can’t see.

9-2-17 Saturday
written by Gail Brookshire
A conversational influence