Stretched

When you don’t have any direction- you are in danger.

Danger of being pulled and stretched in ways you never thought possible.

 

Come here.

Pretty girl.

Sit with me. Talk with me.

I’m a nice man.

I will never hurt you.

Trust in me.

I want to lose myself in loving you. Let your narrative become my own.

Let us blend together so that neither of us will know where you stop and I begin.

 

Come here.

You delicious temptress.

I want to feel your skin.

Against mine.

I want to move inside of you.

To drink from your power so that I can replenish mine.

I want to use you.

But I’ll pretend that I’m your friend.

 

 

Come here.

You injured bird.

I can guide and direct you.

Tell you when you’re wrong.

And you are wrong so often.

Don’t you know this pretty girl?

Your love for me makes it easy.

I don’t bother with building you up any longer.

I only wish to cut you down.

For when you are small- you are most malleable.

I know you will trail behind.

Like the obedient thing you are.

Birds who have wings fly away.

Birds who are broken are forced to stay.

 

My arms and legs are now like jelly.

Sometimes I don’t think I have a body at all.

I can fit myself into spaces I never thought possible.

Shrink, compact, then expand to fit a new mold.

It is becoming more difficult to return to my original form.

I’m still stretched.

Still jelly.

Looking for a mold to fit into.

And resenting myself for my new

Stretched out

Blurred edges

Lack of substance

Shape.

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