A new day, bright, promising
I’m not yet out of the bedclothes
but our battle has begun.
You spin my legs awkwardly
and push my head into my hands
elbows on knees, submissive.
I dare to look toward the ceiling
pleading, begging, asking the question
that prefaces each day.
Today we’re not in love
it will be atrocious, unclean, brutal
as you recoil, unforgiving, blank.
I have told you many times,
it doesn’t have to be this way,
just help me, feed me, stroke me.
I want to tell your story,
show the world your beauty, so
at least meet me half-way.
It’s useless, I’m already damaged
my wounds are too great,
your canon too overwhelming.
© Graham Sherwood 11/2017