i’ll cautiously live in the white and tremble at the thought of gray. my hands will lift at the right moment, and my feet shuffle to the appropriate tune; however, i will guard my brothers against the possibility of viewing my femininity in such movements. adventure and longing for the things unknown will be stifled if it means depriving myself in the joy of things distant from the god you preach. i will attempt to hold my head high in humility and yet find my identity in the savior you don’t seem to understand. the checklist of what i have done wrong and the sins i have avoided will be pinned to my shirt. i will condemn my actions as i lay on my pillow, because i have seemingly found myself cursed. my lips did not pray, my heart did not sing, and my rebellious eyes turned from the book that is meant to lead me. tomorrow, if i promise to be good, maybe i will find favor with the god you have placed in a box.