Trigger Warning
having been
found by perfection,
i am a
prisoner,
just as is that perfection,
both of us framed in
separate
boxes of wanting,
knowing there’s
no walking
away – no substitute for
the alignment of
redemption.
acceptable would
be a joke,
a sorry
compromise, an enlistment
for martyrdom, the
glass slipper
pinching toes, or, worse,
falling off,
shattering,
left to walk barefoot across
a landscape littered
with broken
bits of agony,
a thousand
tiny cuts
that never heal the only
reward for okay.
once you’ve seen
the north star there’s no
pretending
you haven’t;
to follow any other
course is suicide
of the soul.
somewhere hobson smiles
as two hearts
beat in time,
each framed by the fences of
their own neverland.