Beneath the Altar’s Glow

By M. Allshouse

You lay prostrate at my altar,

a look of love and adoration

in the portals to your very being.

You see me—

but I feel... unseen.

Not the real me.

Not the parts I scramble so desperately to hide from you—

the dark shadows of my conscience,

a dangerous place I ache to shield you from.

I say it’s for your safety,

but maybe it’s more

because of my own turmoil and shame—

shame that the sharp edges of my psyche

might wound you,

slice the tenderness you welcome me with

like a sacrificial lamb.

I long for no more sacrifices.

A New Testament love—

of wholehearted acceptance,

one that doesn’t demand

you sacrifice yourself on my altar.

I am not a divine deity to pray to.

I am the morning star

trying hard to save you

from my personal hell.

Do not let the beauty of the packaging deceive you.

Inside this golden exterior, I am rotten—

decaying from the inside out,

the villain of this story

dressed in self-preserving manipulation and lies.

I am monstrous.

And for the life of me…

I do not begin to comprehend

why

you love me.