Love & Masochism

Fee-males, fee-lines,
he thought he ought
by now a lesson learned
as he felt the scratch from chin to eye,
yet still bewitched he yearned,
itched for the stealth of those
who ate his soul with lapping lick
slinked as they slyly stole his heart.

“Cats, cats, cats,
everywhere cats,
but then stepping
out from the crowd,
a single crab.”

And much to his surprise
he found fascination in her flapping flab
and grabbed lustily at her heaving thighs
as she sexily sidled up to him
and punched him meanly
clean between his eyes.
She grouched as he ouched
and yelped in pain,
moaned that he groaned,
punched him again and declared
if he wished to exist in her domain
he should irritate her not,
be grateful for what she gave-he got,
and he submissive for the want of her
discarded those cruel cats
whose pain made him purr,
knew true in his heart that he,
he did
prefer
her,
his sexy snapping brachyura.

 Anna :o]

What is this strange thing called love, that despite its potential to cause great pain, it brings out the masochist in us as we enter the uncertainty of it again and again in our search of a life partner or maybe a ‘just for now’ relationship?.

We profess love of our family and friends – but others interpretation of offered love can be suffocating, stifling, downright cruel.  Of course we cannot chose the family we are born into and may not like them very much at all and may teeter on the edge of near-dislike or dislike itself.

I guess we all have our own interpretation of what love is – is it a basic human need to be needed or is it a protective emotion that binds us together as a species, brings cohesiveness to our particular tribe and thus societal stability? If the latter – it is clearly not working.

Nevertheless, despite its potential to cause pain I am in love with love, love being in it – although I am not quite certain what it is. Can you love someone every minute of every day or do levels of love fluctuate? 

Looking at my handsome one now as he dozes on the settee, do I love him at this very moment in time, is there a passion of emotion there or do I view him (?)only as my chosen (and very likeable) partner? At this moment of time I would say the latter, yet he may wake and utter some words, do some deed and I will be overwhelmed with emotions that pleasure my mind and fill my chest to almost bursting point – and this I think is part of loving, love operates at many fluid levels/depths, love is societies binder - and indeed sometimes a bind…

As the Bishop said to the Actress “How do you interpret Love?”

Today’s post is the result of Isadora’s prompt post at Real Toads in which she asked us to write a post based on the Hamilton Cork's first lines – my chosen: “Cats, cats, cats, everywhere cats, but then stepping out from the crowd, a single crab."

Toxic Love

Image: ParkeHarrison

Imperfection

seeking perfection,

never quite good enough,

feathers ruffled,

you shut me out.

I should not answer back;

show my strength,

strength is my weakness,

enough to gain your wrath.

You need a perfect boy,

a boy grateful

for your love

and I am never quite

that good enough,

I always fail you,

make you cry.

I cry alone,

for alone is what I am. 

I have no-one but you

and I always disappoint. 

You smother me

with your

smother mother love,

tie me to your apron strings,

stifle who I could be.

Imperfection

creates imperfection,

the imperfect me.

I fled your apron strings,

tried to untie the knots

that clog my mind,

attempted

to reconstruct the boy

who was never allowed to be,

I just wanted to be me.

I have failed again;

I cannot break free,

tied to you

in some unnatural way. 

I hate you

yet I long

to earn your love,

be the perfect boy,

your perfect little man.

Always

the cuckoo in the nest,

 I will never quite belong. 

But I am home mother,

shoes lain outside

in reverence. 

Smother me

with your love mother,

smother me.

Anna :o]

“Being unwanted, unloved, uncared for, forgotten by everybody, I think is a much greater hunger, a much greater poverty than the person who has nothing to eat.”“

(Mother Teresa)

I work in mental health and see many damaged souls, some so obviously damaged by the oppressive love of their mother.  This is oppressive love and not possessive. 

Some of these folk are the mothers of these smothered children and when relating their history they talk of feeling/being unloved by their mother and their need to compensate for their perceived/real neglect of maternal love by overwhelming their children with not only their own love but also that denied them by their own mothers.

 However this love is never unconditional, always conditional on the child being totally dependent on and eternally grateful for this imperfect gift of the deepest felt yet the most destructive kind of love.

Talk to (the adult) children of these mothers and almost always they will talk of oppression, manipulation and tellingly, reveal that they themselves felt unloved and that they hate their mother.    Many of these (adult) children have mental health problems of their own, resultant of their existence within a dysfunctional family.

They talk of how they will never allow their own children to experience their emotional stunting, lack of nurturing and unconditional love and vow to love their children oh so very, very much.   And the cycle continues…

Anna :o]

If you would like to understand more of how parental behaviours impact on the mental health of our children, a recommended read  is “the cockroach catcher” authored by the excellent Dr Am Ang Zhang.  He also has a blog just here!

With thanks to Tess at The Mag for the inspiration and also entered at Poets United ‘The Poetry Pantry’ – thanks Poets United!

Submission

Red Spot II, Wallisy Kandinsky

Almost complete erasure,

her very essence

almost lost between the layers

he crafts with fine precision.

Complete submission,

she becomes his masterpiece,

his Dorian Gray,

absorbs his unbridled anger. 

Her blooded form

drips pigment on his palette,

becomes the red spot on his canvas,

she his unwilling lamb for slaughter.

Anna :o]

With thanks to Tess at The Mag for the inspiration and also the good folk at The Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

Beguiled



'The Snake Charmer'  Henri Rousseau, 1907



Ah this Eden,

This dark Eden,

The very garden

Where I beguile

Those that slither

Belly down.

Transfixed are you,

My haunting melodies

Resonate

And excite your mind. 

Snake-charmed,

Beguiled

You let me in. 

Dark thoughts accessible

I know

The very inch of you,

Know your mark

And sweet eyed

I bend you to my will.

Slither my friend,

Slither to me. 

My guise is that of

Melodious charm,

You see not

My evil treachery.  

Slither to me my friend,

Slither to me.

Anna :o]

With thanks to Tess at Mapie Tales for the inspiration

The Painter

He is gone now,

The slick artist

Who painted my dreams,

Coloured my vision,

Decorated his intentions,

Papered over the cracks

Of his little sick schemes. 

He has stripped me

Bare of my ego,

Left my heart bare of trust,

And scraped the hope

From my soul

As my dreams turned to dust. 

Yet I still love him,

My faux painter,

My forger, my faker

And I gloss over his faults,

For he is etched deep in my psyche,

My handsome heart breaker.

Anna :o]

With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for the inspiration.

Romance Is Dead

Banquet Scene with a Lute Player
Nicolas Tournier, 1625

Our maiden

She now quite perplexed,

For he, her suitor,

Some months afore,

Appearing vexed

Had declared

"Madam!  Romance is dead,

For thee my lady, me

Up the garden path hath led!" 

And with that had strutted off

Leaving she (poor child)

With such sore emotion,

For why he had left

She had not notion,

Knowing only that

Her heart was broken.

Yet this morn

His calling card he had sent,

Her heart still full of him

(Which he suspected),

She did relent

And had accepted

This invitation for his banquet feast,

(An explanation she sought at the very least).

Perplexed was she

By his returned affection,

Why he had left

He would not mention,

Instead proclaiming

Undying love for her.

Wine flowed forth,

His tongue much loosened,

Blaming his departure

On dire financial straits. 

("A temporary nuisance,"

Was his pretence,

Stupidly mentioning

Her new

Inheritance).

Alert now to his cunning plan

Our maiden, now much wiser

(She would not be used by any man)

And as he knelt upon one knee,

Proffered a ring and kissed her hand

"My lady wouldst thee honour me

And thee me wed?" 

"Me?  Why no sir," she sweetly smiled

"For in my heart romance is dead!"

Anna :o]

With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for the inspiration