My fingers were beaten grey and gold
the same color of my bruises
that you would prod at
You would feed them to me
with spoonfuls of honeyed phrases
they stung like a bee
I would get caught up in it
My throat would stick closed
Eyes faintly drooped
as if you drug the sun itself down
and pressed me
flat against it
There was a heat so painful
But, I, like the moon
loved that sun
no matter how much it burned–
— Read on petalsoforion.wordpress.com/2019/03/11/endymions-fate/
This isn’t the happiest poem to open the week. It reminds me of the documentaries on R. Kelly and Micheal Jackson. Each of their victims professed such powerful ‘love’ for their abusers. It makes one wonder how much we are miscommunicationing the idea of love. Should it feel so hot that it burns like sun? Should it be so obsessive and frightening that we are forced to run like the moon?
This poem made me think. I enjoyed it immensely. Shoutout to the poet for a thought-provoking piece.
https://www.theoi.com/Heros/Endymion.html — Endymion, the original reference the poet made is a Greek man that chose youth and immortality over all other things.