I won’t allow myself, at this time in my life, anyhow, to weigh more than 170 pounds, but I am no longer the same; I feel that I must eat something, at some point, during the day. The ground is shifting underneath me, as I allow for significant changes to my routine.
Dreaming of my one true love—having dreamt of pornography, the day before, it makes more sense, at this time, to put it off—not to pursue it, at this time. I don’t know if that is because it would be unhealthy for me, or if it would simply be too much for me—too much desire, bubbling to the surface, desire that would lead to judgment.
I know I shouldn’t care what people think, but I can’t help what I think, right here, right now, and how I react, physically and emotionally, and whether or not I can function, if I jump ahead, and try to become something that I am not ready to be, even if, deep down, I cannot, and would not, want to resist this person.
Here goes the King, separate from me,
as if He’s a real person, imperfect,
as opposed to a thought of what I could be,
if my life was entirely correct,
which, even in heaven, it cannot be.
I don’t believe real people are perfect,
not even Jesus, son of His mystery,
a revolutionary, a usual suspect,
coming along every so many hundreds
of years—changing the world. Follow His threads
to the seam, discover what He embeds
unconsciously, for, and in, our heads,
since the dawn of time. Love for each other,
despite, or because of, our differences,
uniting families, one love to another,
hanging on every word He says,
speaker of truth, since all was revealed.
If you love me, then you love Him, too,
and all is well with the world, concealed,
once, by his hate, coming, now, into view.
I no longer believe that, in the next life,
there is any new physics to discover.
We die, and, if we look, the world is rife,
every fact is revealed, we’re as we were,
but the truth, like the alphabet, sets us free,
and we understand the mysteries of God.
I understand Him, and He understands me,
and, together, we are what we laud,
the union of time and space, sacrosanct.
Find something on TV, allow it to be good
enough—next we’ll be received, and thanked,
beautiful as the next, doing as lovers would.