It’s a control thing,.
How I liked you pulling my hair
Ramming up inside me like a jackhammer,
Repeating a staccato rhythm into my hipbones
that would leave permanent marks
in the floor boards
I wanted to be handcuffed
Stretched to my limit
Then released …
And that’s what you did
But you didn’t do it right
And the control I had was lost
You did it with violence
You did it your own way
You did it selfishly
Far away
Metaphorically
Not connected to the intensity of
This vulnerability
You kept me shackled
By false hope
You pulled me back when I was escaping
You carved promises into me
like knives leave initials in birch trees
Permanent memories
That become the word “temporary”
Eventually.
