poem to Magician

May 22, 2020

Stay close to God, my friend, my love.

Is he really charismatic, or are you just attracted to men who hate themselves and attention-whore to fill the hole?

You never listened with ears to understand, only to reprimand,
Never respected my anger, but thrashed to be yourself heard.
A coward to your lovers, afraid of yourself, certain of your unworthiness.

Screaming to be held,
Cooing like a baby when your needs were filled,
Still whirling from an infant ache.

You pathetic child.

I pity the girl still inside me, who mined for your gold,
Who still toils within the lightless cave of your self-loathing.