'Maria and Delilah' by Ravyn LaRue

Love, Love, Love
I need to take your hands in mine
And tell you everything.
It will suck, having to force myself to be so sincere in person.
That's why I wrote what I wrote yesterday.
Though, for my own selfish sake, I hope you never decode it.
I'd pray, but that seems mean, since I do feel the things I wrote.
And it'd be cruel to keep them from you.
But you know I'm not as courageous as you.
And I want to mend all the tears you aren't even aware that I cut.
But in order to do that, I would need to fess up for my sins.
And that's a terrifying thought for me right now.
I imbed my sins in certain bursts of worrisome truth-
And that is my way of carrying on.
I confessed to a teacher that I have a Jekyll and Hyde complex-
And she told me, "Of course you do- but you're a damn good writer-"
I took that as all complement and no condescending-ness, though I'm sure it was meant as both.
But you know me so well that if I confess to all my wrongdoings-
Well, I'd fear you would run from me.
I've always feared that you'd run from me, even since the day you met.
But all I want to do is hold your hands in mine-
And end touch for a mere second.
Harness some power, somehow-
And rip out my heart, that pumps both love-blood and vitriol-
And show you all of it, since I know-
As scared as I might be-
You need to see me as I am, not how I portray myself.
And I hate the stuff I don't reveal.
And I don't doubt you'll hate it more than I.
But I feel crueler for not revealing everything and letting you believe I'm kindhearted.
So I know I need to tell you.
Things are just worrisome now.
So I cannot.
But I will.
And I'm sure everyone who reads this will think I'm talking to them.
And one of you, yes, will be right.
I promise you, my darling, that I will reveal it all someday.
Like it or not.
For better or for worse.
And you might run to me-
In fact I'm sure you will.
And I'll hate myself for telling you all this unnecessary evil I once committed.
But I need to.
I haven't gone to confession in six years, darling.
But with you as my priestess, I will be contrite.
I just can't right now, dear.
I'll never be as brave as you-
I can only count on my own lack of sensibility.