He is not convinced you're hurt;
you're not bleeding
He forgets you bleed monthly when you're not hurting
He doesn't understand your soul speaks the moon's language
Yet he expertly gathers rain clouds in your heart
But his thirst to leave your earth dry and cracked
Is never sated by the rivers you cry him.
No he wants oceans instead
Has you fishing for hope
In the winter of his rejection.
He mistakes you for a baobab
How he blows you and bends you backwards
And shakes your branches
With his hurricane passion
Then makes firewood of your pain
And tears your roots from your truth.
You aught to call a spade a spade,
This man is your grave
And you are flesh made bone
And your ghost has been crying
For a place to call home
But heaven is fully booked
And hell has a guest list
So you are condemned to purgatory.