Daddy Long Legs
Here I am again.
Wrapped up in your spider's web,
your safe cocoon,
your masculine arms and dry texts.
A magpie's giddy attention,
the next shiny thing.
Does the silver ever fade?
Does the love wear out?
I should be tired of this by now.
Patterns cycles coping mechanisms addiction toxic trait commitment issues medical condition this trauma that OH do you still see your therapist?
I should be sick of it.
But this
sick
dog
keeps lapping it up like it has learned nothing.
This sick dog chases its tail,
chases the fear of losing itself
the thrill of merging with itself.
This sick dog is sick of your masculine arms and empty fridge and unconditional positive regard and dirty boxers and promises of eternal safety and dry texts.
I do not want a master! I cannot be enslaved!
I am a daughter of the rivers, the winds, the bleeding creeping earth.
Yet the dance of surrender beckons me,
with its colour and rhythm and evil, virile, life force.
I peer into the jaws of the abyss
and see a terrifying safety I cannot resist.