Jack of Hearts

I wote this last year during a difficult time with one of my close friends. It was writing as a form of therapy :)

He looks at me with soulful eyes and asks me to bear his pain.  And I acquiesce for fear of losing him.

My beautiful boy.   Plucked from the prime of manhood and turned on his head like the Jack of Hearts.  Two of him now, one above and one below.  Angel and devil.

His heart is filled with love, but it is not for me.  I am his crutch in times of need.  I am his second choice when true happiness is not available.  He purrs at me in feline undertones and rubs himself against my leg.  He needs me he says.  I must help him.  I must take care of him.  I want to say no and turn away.  To let the cruelty burn in my eyes, and strike him down.  But I don’t.

I never know which face I am really talking to, or even if there is a difference any more.  The lines have blurred and phases shifted.  The Jack of Hearts becomes the Jack of Spades and digs my grave for me gleefully.

Barbed words from a forked tongue prick at my skin when he thinks I am not looking.  Is it intentional?  Or do I just not mean enough to him to try?  He likes me submissive and weak.  Just like all the others.

Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.

And I have been fooled so many times now I can’t even recall where it all began.

He is no threat to my sexuality.  He will not touch, or try to taste, or slip his arm about my waist.  And so I let him manipulate me.  Control me.  Walk over my feelings and crush them like tiny birds’ eggs.  Yoke and blood spilling out all over the floor.

I am woman hear me roar.  I cry from the rooftops to any who will hear.  Feminist and warrior maiden.  Champion for acceptance and respect.

Yet here I am.  Dancing on puppet strings for another man.  Does he gloat when he is safely in his lover's arms?  Do they laugh at how they have made their own girl-toy?  Women mean nothing to them.  Disgusting creatures that stink of dirt and cheap perfume.  All of us whores, with whom a coupling is akin to a violent act of depravity.

I have traded one Hell for another.

He tells me that he loves me.  Forever.  His words are hollow and empty.  Just like his soul.

If only I wasn’t so afraid of being trapped in the dark with only myself for company.  If only I did not surround myself with fools and ingrates.  If only.  If only.

I tell him that my heart is breaking.  He tells me that a boy at work looks hot in a suit.

The End

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