you didn’t figure
my short leash
into the picture

my shackle sores
I love to live to endure

rope lines
I’m embroidered
it is the texture
you’ve grown
so fond of

as delirious as
I am from suspension

my submission
to a grander
commission

my raw knees
from crawling
every morning

a twisted tongue
from begging

a relentless scissor
by hazing
from pledging
to the desolate revelry

my soul tearing
bearing spree
that jerks me
by the collar
when I grow weak

and damn,
did you weaken me…

– B. Brown

(image courtesy of Pinterest)