In Love with a Whore

She looks pretty and lovely,
adorned and dressed in eye candy.
Like an expensively wrapped gift -
a gun to play roulette with.

She knocks on the door, at least
once a day, sometime more.
She beckons me to let her in
showing leg, making promises.
offering love, freedom, release, joy,
contentment and fulfillment.

Some days I am strong, looking
her in the eye - "Get off my
doorstep." - I feel victory.
But I know she'll be back.
She is relentless and will not be
satisfied till she has had me.
She knows my passions, desires,
Weaknesses.
She knows how to break me,
what to offer me.

"I have what you need", she moans.

There are days when I stand
on the doorstep, waiting and
looking for the Whore.
I say, "To heck with right or
wrong! I want for me!"

And so I indulge and fornicate.
with the Whore. She looks great!
She makes sweet offers of joy and success.
She whispers into my ear things
I want to hear; hate to hear

"You better take me, cause
no One else wants used up,
weak, filthy garbage like you."

Once this Whore stands
naked before me, I see
the faces, the tattoos...
Those whom she has loved before.
Used before. Tempted and lied to.
Those who's lives she left
shattered and mangled.

Even staring at this horror,
this ugliness,
sometimes in fear, sometimes in disbelief
and despair,
I enter into the Whore's embrace.

At first it is justifiable.
Sometimes it feels good.
But the embrace becomes a
strangle-hold. Her painted nails
tear into my flesh, looking for
something. What?
every time I fall into this selfish,
twisted lovers arms, she
tears deeper and deeper, more
and more fervently now.
I can see the hunger in Her
eyes.
But it is not hunger for me.

It is my heart...
it is my soul...
It is my life...
It is my inmost being she wants.

Each time I enter Her grasp
the deeper she goes,
the clearer I can see
my own face etched on
he grafittied body.

And the Whore is gone,

and I am left alone.

Naked, ashamed, I remember:

All the words He spoke to me-
some forgotten, others ignored.
When I allow Him, He comes.
He tends to the damage that
I have allowed the Whore to do.

He even begins to replace that
which I had allowed to
be taken from me - I gave away!

He never scolds. Never says I
told you so. Never leaves
me cold, naked, and wounded.

He stands there, waiting to love,
longing to love on this
used, dirty piece of refuse.
I have the stink of the
Whore on me. Her fingerprints
cover my body. Evidence of
what she has taken shows.

I see myself for who I am.
When I am laid bare and exposed.
When there is nothing to
hide behind. I smell the
Whore's perfume and lust on me.
I see the damage I have
allowed Her to do.

I vomit.

I am repulsed by the "man" I see.

I am nauseous.

I am comforted
humbled
ashamed
grateful
embarrassed
prideful
ignorant

guilty...
Guilty.
Guilty!
GUILTY!
GUILTY!
GUILTY!!
GUILTY!!!

"I admit it! I have laid with
the Whore! Many times!
Cast me from you house!
Push me away! Point your
finger at me! Accuse me!
Punish me! Discard me!"

Embrace me? What? How?

I try to move away,
ashamed and embarrassed,
guilty and uncomfortable.
But His hold is secure and firm.
It is the complete opposite
of the Whore's embrace.

And then...

It all comes flooding back.

I have been here before.
Damaged and held.
Dirty and held.
Guilty and held.

Why do I trade the embrace
of the One who loves me
for the Whore who loves
no one?

How long will I stay in His embrace?

How long till I return to Hers?

Help me. Hold me, Dad.