The Illusion of Profanity

I'm speaking out profanities

the words are bitter on my lips

but this illusion makes them sweet-

sweeter than purity could ever be.

They all claim my sanity

ravenous wolves enveloped in the clothing of sheep

boundless deities, intrusive melodies

overtaking my once dependable but now unsafe boundaries.

There will come a time when all the pointless rhyming

pauses.

When that time arrives, I will tell the story

of many years congealed together to form seventeen.

A girl, unabashedly relishing in a  state of freedom

until the realization came

that the freedom was cleverly mechanized by forces she could not yet see.

Until one day, she was saved.

A beautiful woman showed her the way

to love

the true essence of freedom.

Her family, friends, and priest denied

and chastised the supposedly unnatural, hell-bound state of living.

For in their eyes, it was a choice,

a choice to ruin a beautiful life.

A disgusting lie.

However, this girl looked inward, deep

and realized that all along she was waiting

for this ethereal woman to sweep her off her feet

rather than the stereotypical knight in aluminum foil

whom she read about in every story

she had ever known.

She was finally free

from the illusion of freedom.

And when the pointless rhymes that come with the

cursed gift of life begin again,

I will be speaking out profanities

the words will at first seem bitter upon my lips,

but as time passes, I will realize it is no illusion that again makes them sweet.

Purity is all I have been

and all I ever will be.

For proclaiming my devotion to the love of my life

is no longer a profanity

and it should have never been nor should ever be.

Mother,

you have not failed at your duty

to raise me to be all I can be.

For you are under the illusion

just as I once was

that freedom is burying your destiny.