Violence and Love

Never have I thought how I wanted to be loved. I have tested my language Only to find my excuse when people call me “slut” Because, actually, I just prefer physical touch. And now it is too late to ask “How do I want to be loved?” I am an old dog in this new love With no complaints about the way I am pet With the same hand that feeds me. In a way, it is insanitary That my heart bleeds on the same floor I lap my love up from. You were the garden I was never allowed To play in Because we were all too afraid I would Eat the flowers that bloomed there. We had a right to that fear. Never mind the aftermath of my storm As long as my body was rubbed against Every single one of your gently petals. As long as you gave your all into something You could not survive through. Maybe that is how I should be loved. With the violence of a thunderstorm Shaking your tree from its roots Just to strangle you into submission. I want to be the conqueror The devastation That forces you to rebuild on my havoc. I want you to remember me As the idea that spat your soil into the neighbor’s yard Just because I could. I want to rattle your bones In the cellar of your heart Just to make sure you can feel me. Feel me in the rage you have felt The first time you have seen red. In that moment you wanted my throat But bit my lip instead. I want love the way The way the devil wants anger and mistakes. I want love the way A new heart breaks with disaster and apocalypse That is me.