prufrock's prayer

Do I dare disturb the Universe? In all its petulant perverseness? 

Do I find it beautiful? Or horrid.

Perhaps whorry. Is that a bad thing? 

Why are we taught to hate love? To shun sex.

To turn away from the joining of two, three, four, five, etc. bodies in the holy cacophony of skin flaps grazing against one another in a quick scene of wet intensity.

Is the Universe this World? Or something different.

Is it a microcosm or a macrocosm? 

I care not for the words of the priest, politician, or preacher. His words are lies that sit upon the psyche of the afflicted and slowly seep into the souls of those most in need of something they do not know how to obtain.

Poison racks their humble bodies, and as they die–with eyes and hearts upturned toward heaven–they sink down to Beelzebub’s abode.

In darkness, they find light; and in light, they are blinded, reduced to the acquiescent adoption of night, full of new moon.

“Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”

He calls me to love. 

To accept everyone and leave no one without love.

I am called by Him to create a space where people can come to feel it.

But I hate people.

I dislike people.

I can feel the dark bile of resentment and pride bubble forth from my stomach to my chest, threatening to overflow out of my person.

I hate. I hate well.

It feels good to hate. 

It is hard to love.

It is easy to hate.

Why is this so?