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.