To love me..would be blaspheme.

To kiss my cheek, to hold my hand...a sin. the red feathers mark me as something unworthy..or so I was told.

This scar on my face a mark that I am less then every one else not worthy of the greatness that you offer me. I look into your eyes and see a whole world of joy and happiness...I touch your face and I am filled with a warmth that makes me feel like I am melting.

It is a sin. I am not worthy of your kisses or your touch the look of love in your eyes I am less then the dirt on the ground...or so I was told.

The fire in my heart burns like a raging inferno burning away my sadness and pain until only the hate remains.
This hate it is not to you, this fire is not your doing, years of people pulling me down telling me my worth, telling me my place...erupted.

And like a forestal you come running, bucket in hand trying to douse the flame...the water of your love washes over me like a tidal wave..and the fire dies and I am left scalded and bare..

But you are there with a towel and a hug telling me its ok to love that they were wrong and I am so much greater then I know...

you kiss my scar and tell me I am beautiful.

you keep one of my feathers next to your heart because I gave it to you...

my heart is burnt and shriveled but it beats so loud next to yours the feel of you cools me and makes me feel like I can do the impossible

I could face gods with your love in my heart....maybe loving me isn't a sin...maybe its not blaspheme.

Penned by my hand on the 20th of Lupar, in the year 630 AF.