She lies

Not in your bed

But to your face,

Of friendship and honor.

Spirals of ruin

Bleed from her center,

Blamed on holes from long ago.

But she

Doesn’t realize at night

She spins, arms outstretched,

And nails ragged,

Hoping to create a world

In Her image,

Instead of the world she wants.

Once, you were

Mesmerized by this

Flourish of limbs.

Her nails dug into your most

Tender places,

And still, she captivates you.

I sit, upon this stone,

And wait for you to return.

Recognize the pull of ego,

The push of pain.

When you return,

I lift your shirt to

Find the bruises,

Offer you healing space,

And let you unravel.

A dancer earns no

Company, if she can’t

Convince the audience.

A healer earns no

Patients, if she doesn’t

Understand the process.