I let her walk straight into your arms.
She had never been so disconnected
From her body, she thought she was
Alone and couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel
A thing. Programmed to trust heartbreak.
And she felt so small and saw that you liked
That. And she felt accepted, lies and lies on top
Of that, and she made herself even smaller
And you were so pleased, you could contain her.
She’d rather step into the known shrinking game
Until her body felt like nothing and heartache was all
There was, disillusionment, entanglement, disorientation.
You thrived. You cornered girls with blindfolds.
You sought them out according to their wounds.
They could be so easily directed, corrupted, because they
Never learned what love is, love could be anything,
Love could be punches, love could be bruises and cuts,
Love could be a prison, love could be fear, love could be threatening.
You were the wordsmith that reattached a new meaning
To what these girls really wanted and they hoped and believed that
Love hurts, you sold your product, you created a fable, they rotted
In love when they should have blossomed, you played your game
And watched them burn, thinking they were dying for their ideals,
And you hid the true words from them, actions of loathing and chicanery
Masquerading as love and affection, you talked to the youngest, most
Fragile part within them and abused it anew, shook it anew, to the
Core, mistransformed, out of her own shoes, how could you?
Your mouth bathed the most beautiful words in poison.
Your body conveyed to her that she was nothing whilst
She thought that she meant everything.
Abusing language, abusing words leads to abusing bodies, abusing minds.
You pretended to be on the same page and got her consent, her faith,
Even though you had ripped out all the pages without her awareness.
Croque-Melpomene 