Unholy

They told me I was damned, but then they made me saved.

Unholy.

They made me holy.

They said I was in pieces, damaged and afraid.

Unholy.

Baptised, they made me holy.

Yet their verse upon my lips felt like knives upon my skin.

How is one to live when all you are is sin?

Still I sang their hymns.

By grace I was forgiven.

On my knees and begging

for mercy, for mercy.

Days to weeks,

weeks to months,

months to endless grey.

To live a life holy,

I could never be the whole me.

Until those eyes, piercing blue, bore straight into my soul.

Her laughter, like music in my ears,

unveiling a world of vivid colour.

Her hands electric on my skin.

I feel the way she holds me.

I know she sees me wholly.

She pulls away the shackles that bound to me like hate.

By her lips, her hips, her mouth,

I am the embodiment of grace.

And if it is a sin to love her,

then by her hands I am undone.

Wholly.

Unholy.