Twice I confessed my soul to a ***** priest with bible hands
The first time I was lost, not even for words, just for coherence and faith
The last time I was a babbling fountain, spilling all my secrets and before I realised
It was too late. Silence.
Where was the priest? I still saw the white
I still heard the tap tapping of of his judgement on the bench
I smelled the incense like my grandmother’s room after Friday prayer

I woke up and I knew that the church was my sins
With walls of plastered apologies to God
Windows of hope and breaths of fresh air just in case I decided to change
And of course that alter was my heart
There’s no place for a broken soul in my church

And it pained me to note that although intention was all I thought that mattered It was much more, much more than what I confessed
Much more than my mind was prepared to give
And my church of sins and apologies crumbled that Sunday morning and I was left with rubble of nothing I could piece together

I fell in love with a girl who decided she could not handle me at my worst.
Because when she was falling apart in my arms it was different,
And when I tried to fall apart it was just terrifying.
I have no space to come undone like that.

But tell me, darling, if it doesn't hurt than do you even love?
Where is the solace if there is no pain?
Can you really be in love if you are not scared of falling?
Does it mean nothing to you at all?

I once told someone that the poison in my veins was too strong,
I am the reason that no one can stay.
Even though I so desperately need someone.
Perhaps I save lives this way.

But it is not my fault you were scared of me,
And I am sorry that you prefer something surface level.
Perhaps that will be your place,
Because I told you I was ocean tides wrapped in skin.
You told me that you loved me anyway.

If my love wasn't what I wrote it to be, neither was yours.