Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Conditional Love and 1st Corinthians

Honeyed sweetness drips from your tongue.
How sharper than a serpent’s tongue
it is to have yours slither over me.
Trussed with words, tight, they wrap me,
my throat,trail down my torso, my breasts,
my waist, my back, my pelvis, and slide between my legs.
The lies we weave are so easy,so good.
They feel so good....
I want so much to believe.
The noose is a caress.
I lift my chin, exposing my throat.
Your thumbs stroke my windpipe,
our tongues dancing to the music of lies.
I press against the noose, revel in it
as you bite the nape of my neck.
Every kiss a lie.
Lies disguised as promises
slide down my arm to my ring finger,
size 5-1/4, I do. I do.
Does not take many.
One. Two. Three.
Certainly no more than three.
And I will believe.
Oh, I will clap hands because
I believe.
I believe in fairy tales and happily ever after.
I want so much to believe.
I want the lies.

There are conditions, too many,
like threats.
Eyes filmed over, vision clouded
but now they see.
You have ripped the blinders off
with your own stupidity.

Woman needs to be helped and lifted and have the best place. And ain’t I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I could work as much and eat as much. And bear the lash as well. And ain’t I a woman? I cried out, but none heard me. And ain’t I a woman

Does it matter to you?
Not a jot iota bit byte
as long as your conditions are met.
“As long as”
What are you looking for? Why?
Why do I ignore what is before me?
Why do I believe your lies?
Collaborate with them? Why?

I lie here, awake, thinking of lies.
So many.
Yours mine ours, certainly ours,
lies hidden deep within ourselves.
We believe our own lies.
Well, that is best.
When the liar believes the lies
it is easy, so easy
to maintain the illusion.
But the veneer is ripped away.
I swim in a cauldron of sludge
the steam rises, each strand more lies.
The hurt whirls around me.

Faith. Trust. Pixie dust.
Adultery. Betrayal. Mud.
Overtime. Four hour lunches. Lab tests.

Open that drawer.
This is my new weekly sitcom.
Every week a new adventure.
I shut that drawer, silent.
And stay on my side of the bed.

You whisper what I want to hear
Fun house mirrors reflect me, distorted as a lie
and truth even more perverted.
You’ll say anything. Talk.
I’ll believe it
and you’ll believe it
if you say it often enough
loud enough
soft enough.
Your words kiss the helix of my ear
as they travel to my insides
looking for a home.

It all means nothing
if there is no truth
there is no truth
if it is all conditional.

A child cannot see
lines between reality and make believe,
between lies, half-truths, and truth.
An adult learns this, learns when to make believe
and when to lie.
A child, selfish, self centered, stamps his feet because
he wants!
As long as his wants are satisfied.
Nothing else matters.
An adult knows that
cannot be satisfied with lies
or when it hurts another
An adult balances their needs with the world outside,
sees it and does not need prodding.

Love is impatient, it does not wait.
Love is blind to what it will not see.
Love is jealous and has no master.
Love is arrogant and holds itself out.
It is unbecoming in ways that make
me tremble, astonished, excited.
It seeks its place, uncaring.
It provokes and hurts.
It wrongs, it suffers.
It revels in perfidy and rejoices with lies.
It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things “as long as”

“As long as” it gets what it wants.
I want to be an adult
I am tired of being a child
playing childish things.

It is time to put away childish things.

I can flog it.
So can you.
And we will have tired arms.
The corpse will still be a corpse.
That is, if it was ever a living thing.
I have my doubts.
No, no doubts.
I know what it was.

Even now, knowing that I know,
you cannot keep up the facade
just to please me.
Have you ever done anything just to please me?
No. Never.
You can’t even do that.
How can you do anything else?

I cried out, but none heard me

1 comment:

Independent Accountant said...

This reminds me of Shakespeare.