Poetry

Baby,
I was your masochist,
I took all of your abuse with no complaint,
I enjoyed all of your anger,
every strike you struck,
I reveled in.

I loved the way you glared at me,
all the hateful words you spat.
The way you thought I was nothing.
Baby,
I was your masochist.

I threw myself into the fire,
suffering limitless in the blaze
in which I willingly cast myself,
forever burning without respite.
Baby,
I was your masochist.

Then something changed,
I didn't revel in the pain.
I hated the way you thought I was nothing,
I cringed and flinched every time you stuck me.

Just kill me and get it over with,
The way you're tearing me up
and throwing me down,
then fixing me.
It isn't right.
It's sadistic.
And baby,
I'm no longer your masochist.