Sloppy with grace
I am afraid of nearness, of the slow crawl into warmth, where the stitches come undone. Closeness breeds laziness, words slouch out like confessions, spilled in the dark pew. When I grow comfortable everything slips, feelings leak like wine on the altar cloth. Effort dissolves like bread in water. Love grows sloppy, A rosary dipped in dirt.
Even God terrifies me. The thought of being intimate, letting him see the mess. My kneeling bones crooked, my prayers I dont believe in stumbling over themselves. What if I speak too freely? What if I touch the hem of his garment and leave a stain?
It is safer to stay sealed. A confessional door locked tight. A heart refusing to rise for communion.
A body that fears both heaven and the touch of any hand reaching towards it.