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I (too) prolong getting ready for the party.
by Rebecca Anne Haley
A thousand smiles and voices chirp, sun-soaked on the other side of the door down the hall, welcoming hands pressed against the glass.
Yet who’s to say I would be welcome in their ecstasy in my apostasy,
Who’s to say it will be merry for me,
Not blaring for me, glaring for me?
What if I open the door and the first thing someone says is here’s some kool-aid, drink up?
They say life is a community of hope, Love, and grace,
But when they see my face
Will there be space
Or will I be swallowed up
Before I even have a chance to open my mouth
The fruit of the spirit is love joy peace patience kindness gentleness and self control
But the fruit of solitude is quiet stillness safety and a world all my own
The voices call, the hands press,
We will catch you, just come on out!
And yet, I prolong getting ready for the party