I helped create the facade -
Your ally, your beard,
Your whipping stone,
Your mask, your cloak,
Your public relations banner,
Your public fantasy,
Your crutch, your step stool.
My head, my back, my shoulders,
My spine, my hips, my soul,
My soul, my soul, my soul
Fractured
Twisted
Fragile
Bending to your will,
Your coercive nasty biting will.
Gratitude is exacted as a toll.
Poor you, poor you, poor you.
They actually believe you.
That leaves me where?
I eavesdroopped on a call one day.
Man on the other line spoke sage,
"You're not nice at all.
That's a game you play.
You even believe it yourself.
But I see through it."
As if to prove his point,
You snarled back in biting tones.
Crouching by the door
I imagined him wise and soft.
If only I could wiggle like a worm through the phone wire
To meet the man
Who in 5 minutes recognized
what it's taken me years to discern.
You fooled me.
You got my heart, my youth, my joy.
You praised my art, you loved my music,
You cushioned my feet so I would never walk hard pavement.
(The geishas also had special shoes.)
I felt beautiful and rare.
But then you mangled, suppressed, and repressed my joy.
Under your dark cloud.
I struggled not to wilt beneath your shadow
While you molded me determinedly into a You.
Publicly disarming
Privately destroyed.
