An Inquisition

To be asked if you're worthy of me,
with an inability to promptly respond,

I consider if you're asked of comparable questions.
Brushed by an insecure importune,
a fictitious reality, a definitive romance.

A question on my lips will remain:

will you affirm yourself authentic?

So much to fall for,

and I'm caught in a rapid descent,

so much yet to apprehensively explore.
I submit to an uninvited envy,

though present only to protect a heart.
Trust: an uncomfortable, unfamiliar reliance,

an ignorant faith follows closely behind.

With inundated responsibility,

a question on my lips will remain:

ever will I be granted the opportunity to affirm myself authentic?