Let Me Be Small

A poem the paradoxical healing effects of power play

Some days living feels far scarier than dying Those days I bravely smile all though I feel like crying And I will stand up though I want to fall apart Those days a vacuum has absolved my beating heart

You ask me, are you good? I answer:

Yes … I am fine I’m fine Fine Finished Fucked Fuck me…please?

On those days I need you to stand tall Need you to let me be small To push me up against the wall Nudge me to my edge and let me fall

Then, catch me just before I hit the floor Torment me and hear me beg for more Cradle me and say I am your whore Tell me I’m a good girl, I implore

Collect my salty tears with your sweet lips Drops of sweat beneath your fingertips Trace my spine until you reach my hips Ravish me, our bodies in eclipse

Like Peaches, let us fuck the pain away Fuck the shame away Fuck this shit away Fuck it all. Away

Fill my emptiness With your fullness Mend my void with your caress And then, at last, I will confess:

No … I am not fine I’m not fine Fine At all Not yet…

First, I need you to stand tall To let me be small; barely visible at all Your goddess on my knees; for you I’ll crawl I’ll be nothing. I’ll be everything; your all

At last, you’ll scoop me up and hold me tight Envelop me and rock me through the night You’ll tell me everything will be alright And then, eventually, I will recite:

Yes! … I am fine I’m fine Fine Finally I’m really, truly fine