You impostor of love.
A two-headed cherub brought you close to me.
Silver-tongued, devil-eyed, poison-infusing
Creature lacking a conscience.
I stayed by your side for years.
I grew old alongside you.
In the worst way.
I was your thing to hold and penetrate at dawn.
I thought it was affection, attraction, but my
Body knew better.
“Get him off!” That’s what my body told me to do.
And he felt glorious in desertlands that
He had neglected.
The blame he put on my shoulders.
The world went wrong and it was my fault.
What did I do to myself?
Believing him, I betrayed myself?
How to bounce back from that?
The women he took for joyrides before he jumped into my sheets.
Why do we always do this to each other?
Why can’t we be heroines?
But no, they always end up in our midst.
The devils, making us compete.
But I just want to cry because I can smell it.
Her, Them, all of them, across his dirty skin.
He feels so secure he doesn’t even shower, doesn’t protect me at all.
He makes a monster out of me.
Pushes away his responsibility
And I think of my own burial and peace,
Would he still defame me who slept whilst he had sex?
You put a rash on my heart that
Would never stop burning.
I assisted you in hurting me to this extent.
I am asking my own body for an absolution.
You were weaving lies around my name,
Around our story, people are protecting you still,
They have seen you in action, how unconquerable you must feel.
Hollering that you’re the man across small-minded rooftops,
Whilst I hold a candle for every single thing that
You have tried to kill within me and
Now I bring back to life.
“Fiammetta” by Jules Lefebvre (1834-1912)