our captors have become our friends

[loladancer]

goodbye summer
and popsicles, swimming and swingsets
and tan lines drawn from hip crest to thigh bone
I miss your laugh
those hearty syllables of joy and understanding
when will I find that sense again of it not being just me?
not needing words so much?
saying yes more.

if you can't control your sexuality, pray for a husband
are the things inside me really so dangerous?
lying in grass always means itching and little crawly bugs
somehow insects never intersected with my curiosity
tame me
I don't want to be lamed, I want to be provoked---encouraged.
where is the intersection between laughter and the house of God?
can I occur inside that semblance?
brick by brick I melt into the w(h)ine of my own thought processes
how are colors more vivid simply by looking for them?
Jesus didn't mean for us to avoid discomfort so often.