Do I think, sometimes, he thinks
Worse of me? Sometimes.
Maybe he believes he’s better
In some charming way and has
A hard time breaking his
Ego when I’m proven right,
He has started working a lot.
He reminds me he makes time
For me neverheless.
I have not slept properly in three weeks.
I haven’t told him once.
I could villainize him in
Such well written poetry but it would be so
Wrong when I’ve been
So easily terrible too.
When I’ve let him down.
I’m sure he has his own poem
To write.
I think, his anger truly,
That’s what gets me.
Tone, or the words he speaks,
It’s his face. The stoic
Expression of distaste,
Like he’s bitten on a bitter
Piece of butter
Ad he needs the world to
Know about it.
He’s beautiful at
Conviction of persuasion.
The old ways of seduction.
I feel like a one
Winged dove at the
Edge of a little
Bridged bush just
Flapping my wings
Endlessly to bleed
To death or fall
Onto a bush of
An awaiting downstairs
Enthusiastic feline.
Before I even look behind
I’m already in your mouth
A bloody wing hanging
In your whiskers
And I have a very
Deep seated fear,
That it was me
Who jumped into
Your mouth.
You tell me we are equals
As you’re chewing on my
Bones.
How beautiful this restriction,
How funny is your
Act of defiance,
Your consistent apologising
And my stubborn
Egotism.
Tell me the words you speak
Are not cynicism,
We are so broken at our
Very seams,
Say, you don’t care about the
Criticism to my tearing flesh
And I will smile baby
Even in your bleeding mouth
I will be the only one
Laughing every damn
Time as you swallow
Everything I am,
Is it hard on some days?
To gulp me
Down?
You tell me I taste
Delicious and I Laugh.
Somewhere Over The Rainbow 