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Click hereDangerous Attraction
You told me you loved me,
showed me you cared,
unreserved joy in me,
small gestures, touches, affections.
I told you I loved you,
perhaps prompted and less often.
Showed you nothing,
knew it hurt, but didn’t change
I said “I love you”,
you wanted to hear it.
Your response was gratifying,
out of all proportion to my lie.
You made love with passion,
sweet innocent imagination.
I with consummate skill,
fucked you.
I loved the love you gave me,
not the giver of the gift,
loved the greater man you made me,
not you, yourself.
I could lie again, regain you,
have you back. My own.
Or just as easily exchange you.
Allow you to be gone.
I had my first poem accepted by Lit exactly a week ago. It, and none of my other five submissions, have been as well received as I thought they would have been and I've wondered why. Of course I can see the failings in the writing itself - that is clear, but beyond that I'm wondering at the fact that I IDENTIFY with the man in this poem! My critics have said that the themes in my stories and poems are dark and that they don't like them for that reason. Having read this poem and understanding it, perhaps more than anything else that I have read this morning, has shown me how emotionally dead I really am. It is a very sobering thought and something that I must reflect upon further. Thank you for this.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 37,000 poems.
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Frightening, raw and cruel. Well written and just brutal. Thanks for sharing - Willow
Your poem is mentioned on the New Poetry Review thread for Tuesday 22nd March.