Beautiful
I have forgotten more and more each day
Who it was I used to be. Struck by an end
less bolt of lightning, I am struck by you,
shocked into submission, I wish I could be
clearer in my words, but I am broken with
the words I want to say, and the words that
I am allowed to say. The scratches let me
know I am still a slave, the bites tell me I
am yours, the kisses say I am not alone, and
the way you hold me, let's me know I am
free. I know this poem isn't made of lovely
lyrics, or pretty words, the only thing I can
say in so many words, is that you are the
sleeping angel to my rising demon, the lioness
of my pride, and I am blessed, loved,
risen and trusted by you,
Jocelyn.
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