The Wound of Woman
Why are you so insecure and scared of love.
Why are you so misunderstood.
Like a child tremblingly alone, in a garden of snakes.
What was it that put you there,
Was it man.
Are we to blame ?
Did we hurt you so deeply,
That now in this moment of love,
You are unable to see it,
To feel it.
Does it remind you of what was lost,
Does it echo past hurts so violently,
That you crush this budding flower before it breaths its first blossom.
I want you to devour me with your hidden rage,
I wish to be torn limb from limb,
Like the tree in the garden,
The one that we sat under,
In the sun,
Before the storm tore at its branches.
I want you,
I want your violence,
I want your innocence,
I want your tenderness,
I want your pain.
I want the poison that you promised you would never serve me,
In a goblet forged from flame.
But i will only drink,
If first you touch your lips,
Upon the banks of this raging river.
For it was never man that could heal you.
But only you yourself,
That could embrace,
The wound of woman.