Oh, you entered her body all right.
This is the thing we built, you and I.
The devil’s work. I had no idea who I was.
I, myself, tried to bury the pieces that I was
Sure about. You used that so well for your lust.
That served you well. That you thought I was unloved.
That you knew I didn’t love myself. Oh, you jumped on that.
So fast. I thought you were the key to my father.
Is that how men like you succeed over centuries?
The old-fashioned infliction of pain and entrapment
Of girls and women in your patterns? How accomplished
You are. I should have paid attention to the men my father
Looked up to. How he made love, or whatever you would call it,
No, not love, not that, that doesn’t sit right, with me, with her,
Probably.
It’s enough, you take it back, you take them back,
All of your tricks, I thought I was so clever running straight
Into your arms, swallowing my daddy’s good old poison,
I should have known the moment my lips crossed yours,
As soon as I got a taste of you, it was the starving daughter that
Wanted more, more, more of you, of him, hanging on by a thread,
That’s where you operate, and I thought I was smart, getting what
I deserved, getting what I was used to, abused too, yes, all that time,
Thinking I spent it in charge, no, you were, and I didn’t know how
Much I followed, you, blind-sided, unilateral, the same old toxic
Song, betraying my own sex, my sex, all of them, the child never
Knew better, and again I condemned her, them, I was taught to
Disintegrate, to disengage with myself, with what my body had to tell,
Me, what me body told me, every single time it got the chance and I
Despaired because I didn’t listen, didn’t know how, was alone,
With all of you closing circles around me, objectified, lobotomised.
“Sitzendes Mädchen mit herabfallendem Haar” by Egon Schiele (1890-1918)
Croque-Melpomene 