You tell yourself you love
The prince who dashes in
Who storms the castle
And slays the dragon
And takes away a part of you in doing so.
You tell yourself you’ll learn to love Bluebeard
If it means you can avoid the chopping block.
You insist you like the inferno,
The desire is the fire and it burns beautifully
But it leaves nothing
But ashes and soot
And a bad taste in your mouth.
(You thought he’d slayed the dragon
But he’s only taken its place.)
There are moments when
You can convince yourself you love him
When he’s away in sleep,
Lost to you somewhere you
Never wanted to follow
When you squint
He can look perfect
(But squinting gets so tiring.)
You rewrite the story as many times
As your mind will let you;
Reiteration after cold reiteration
Until the lines between
Blur on the page
And in your head
So you’ll just ask him to kiss the burns on your fingers
And run them through his hair.
He won’t love you
In any way you understand
(Or any way that really matters)
And you’ll love him
More than he’ll ever ask to be
(Or he’ll ever deserve)
And you’ll wonder if maybe
The wives before you were the lucky ones.