She spoke as if she wasn’t sure
If the words formed by her lips
Were really hers—only uncertainties,
Fairies flitting convoluted ideas
Through her mind’s eye.
Was it too much to say?
Did she truly want to give all
The pieces of herself away? 

It was too much. . .
They would not understand. . .
Dark lashes framing tired eyes,
Life was harder than she thought.
What if she wasn’t the unwavering light
She was supposed to be?
So many insecurities,
Yet none so powerful
As the red-limned thought
That Jesus would not know her,
And she would fall into the pits--
Welcome only to darkness
And the cold, cold smiles
Of the Enemies who succeeded.