pleasures of the flesh

it shouldn't be this way, you're pretty sure - surer and

surer, as time goes on, and continues on doing nothing

for that old, hardened panic. i used to want this -

in the same way that you used to crave cotton candy,

when you were younger, back before you ate too much

and found a new repulsion. everyone said it was silly

to hate it so suddenly, and think not of the taste

but instead of that one, inconvenient memory.

and maybe you are broken, for that -

you can't taste the sweetness of life, lately

you only taste the bitterness.

so you don’t love me anymore?

that’s what you’ll say, when i tell you, and that’s why i won’t.

confessions are for another, braver day -

and it gets a little less scary, each night, to imagine things changing

and a little more to imagine things staying the same. still,

i hate turbulence, like i hate the spring, and i hate anything

that’s uncomfortable and demanding and ultimately good.

it’s funny and we’re laughing because everything is uncomfortable,

especially staying still, especially staying silent, especially living.

why not do it truthfully? i’ve been steeped in lies

since birth, and taught to smooth over every wrinkle,

and now i can’t tell a truth that might make you flinch. instead i lie

and the truth stays inside, and i used to be good at pretending,

but it’s getting harder and i think you can tell.

you were made for this. but i was made by a monster

who never saw his creature gain sentience, and never thought he could be despised.

how do you take childhood innocence and cut away the rest?

i was 8 when it first happened. and then it never stopped

it still hasn’t, even when i forget, and even when i’m smiling,

it’s happening still. sometimes i feel safer in your arms

and sometimes i don’t ever want to be touched again

and sometimes i think that need of mine has died, forever, and

now only haunts me.

i will not always be this way, i want to tell you,

but that would be untrue. i’m going backwards -

i’m tired, and you’re crying, and i’ve caved:

i’ll forget the fire, tonight. the beauty of the flesh turns

to rot in my eyes. that mounting pleasure, a grating steel on my skin -

you’re not taking from me, we are sharing,

but i am being robbed. you love me. i am writhing

beneath you, and you are taking.

you look at me

and you want, want, want.

what if i want

to keep me for myself?