She lends her pen,
to thoughts of him,
that flow from it,
in her solitary.
For she is his poet,
And he is her poetry.
My other half will respond… I just know it
At dinner she asked why I write such sad poems. And I told her, ‘my poems are not sad, they are masochistic.’ My poems like a good choking, a good spanking. They want to be bound and gagged and told what to do. There is a pleasure that my poems derive from being under such control; from having trauma recalled and then stripped of its agency.
In truth, you like the pain. You like it because you believe you deserve it.
Marya Hornbacher (via rockpaperandroll)