I desire for him to see the goddess in me, but the gems of my crown can no longer be seen.
The shine of the gold that covers my skin was washed away the deeper he dove in.
I glistened and stood upright like an effigy -one that your fingers shaped me to be.
A mold of someone that I do not recognize, because I tried to frame myself to your outline.
Love isn’t sacrifice, it’s more of compromise, but what good is that definition when resentment is on the rise?
I look into your eyes that once worshiped me and all I see is the pain I caused -of what could be.
You’re ashamed of your religion, afraid of judgement, and when you praise my name it begins to sound redundant.
You deny me by hiding and deceive me by holding back, you should have never converted knowing my competencies and slack.
For I am a goddess -shameless and impressionable.
Will you still be my god if our religion wasn’t reputable?
I can only worship you until it causes my own demise.
I still see the glistening of gold streets in your eyes.
Our minds are prisons of egoistic mechanisms, but I assumed our religion set us free of skepticism’s.
Am I still your goddess although my gems don’t shine?
Will you continue to praise my name and partake of my wine?
Will you light up offerings and kneel to earth?
Or will this burden of disagreement be an end and new birth?