How I Am Being Abused and I Love It

So I stopped by poetry’s house yesterday
He wasn’t home
I wanted to whine and groan
But as I arrived back at my writing lair
There he was, grinning
He’s now made it clear
That I do not visit him
He stands me up and then takes me out for dinner
I have a confession
I am in an abusive relationship
With poetry

He interrupts me during every situation
Has forbidden my interactions with anything but him
Declaring he owns me
That I would be nothing without him
He attacks me when I least expect it
Stings my form with his potent arms
Strangles me in his rhymes and similes
Slaps me with his concealed themes and purpose
He clenches my wrists and forces me to grip a pen and give him more and more
He makes me sate his desires to conquer me and my life
I’ve been attempting to escape him
I’ve had affairs with playwriting and prose
And poetry knows.
He smacks me with that disillusioned expression
Scolds me for being unfaithful to him
And I feel like the rotten lover
He then smothers me in his delicate arms
Kisses away my tears
And then effortlessly irons out my fears
Then suddenly demands me to dive out of our cozy bed
And wander through the frosted corridors that inject my veins with ice
To provide him with another serving of paper
Because he’s hungry
And it’s my job to satisfy him
I’ve been looking for battered poet shelters
None are listed.
He’s turned off the internet
Imprisoning me within the pages of a notebook
“I will liberate myself from your tendrils”,
I stammer
He laughs
I don’t blame him
He owns me—he is me
And I cannot halt my love for him
I am hypnotized by
His elegant fine lines
His defined voice
How he whisks me into a better existence
He makes me feel like a poet
And when he whips me with drama and agony
Punches me with passion and lust
It only makes me adore him more
So here I am again
Deeply kissing his alliteration
Tangled in his fiction and shattered promises
Drenched in him
Commanded by his stare
Yet happier than I ever was before he wandered into my life.


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