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These days my pillow overfeeds upon the juices of my eyes, it is drunk with my tears but how can I encourage it to quit this bad habit seeing as the choices before me pose more difficult as time hastens the grayness to my hair. Oh, sweet pillow, how I have bastardized your potential as my sexuality is bastardized daily, my spirit struggles against drowning in the sea of my fears and my despairs. Many a time, I think to myself that to conform can't be that hard and what rebel am I to reject without ever trying to marry a man. I'm besieged on all sides by echoes of the sacrifices so dearly made for me, the hopes of loving parents, the expectations of faithful pastors, and the refund through kind of many an asoebi bought in hopes of selling mine. How utterly selfish I feel myself to be and how degenerate a soul, until I see your face and that sweet smile, that bright eye that believes so much in me and I know perhaps I could love you so hard as penance for my sins and though I never see myself deserving of you, the fight to be worthy of you occupies my time so much my mind wanders away from the cross of their hatred and the nails of their judgment driven into me, and I die a martyr for you, for love, for God, because God is love and though I bring Her to them through you, they clutch desperately to a male God, they miss the miracle I am desperate for them to experience and I continue to bleed here in love hoping the purity of this sinful love may obtain me a passage into the land of light.
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