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–

Endymion’s Fate

https://petalsoforion.wordpress.com/2019/03/11/endymions-fate/
— 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.

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