Household Objectification

You always wanted to make me cry.
To 'bring me tears,' you liked to say.
I said I didn't think I could stand being
hurt enough to get there
but I'd try.

You'd suggest things - If not this,
or that, then this and that,
or one after another, just might work.
So many combinations:
the chemistry of pain.

We tried them all, and with abandon,
And I enjoyed it too, I did.
The look in your eyes made me ache
to be taken, past endurance.

I moaned, whimpered.
I sometimes even screamed.
After you I was among the walking wounded.
Still, I didn't cry.

The very last time it was late at night,
in your office,
and you told me not to make a sound.
'You have to just be quiet and take this,
Do you understand?'
I did.
I bit my own arm while you came inside me,
shaking, hard.

You never saw my tears.
But you must have known -
It was everything you didn't do that hurt enough
to get me there.