pomegranate stain

by Linda M. Crate

i wasn't aware
that i could only wear
emotions you painted
on my sleeves,
the ones frayed with your
demands too harsh and needy;
you push me away
expecting me to pull closer,
and what exactly am i to you anyway?
fading memories, a broken prayer,
or maybe the other half of the
monster you see in the mirror?
you told me that you loved me,
but your love falls in harsh bitter
pomegranate sunsets whose
melancholy bathes me
in a bitterness too repulsive for me
to stand in; your lust maddens your eyes
you're undressing my body with
bedroom eyes even in the middle of church  —
only desiring my body and my submission
you don't care much when i fight
back or when i'll tease you instead of you
toying with me, and i begin to realize
you are the wolf you warned me of  —
i let you steal away my flowers
preserved in years of my youth thinking
that you would treasure each one
because i presented them to you and you alone,
as your eyes rake over my skirt and my
breasts i can see you only want more than i can give;
thinking little of my love for you but only of
desires that consume you like the animal you are.