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The Masochist
THE MASOCHIST
I know there is cruelty
In words you speak with ease
In separate corners we face
Heads hung low, bent at the knees
Spears made of letters
I am bound by your lines
I stand before you with grace
Still in pain, out of my mind
I pace two steps around myself
You do not let me move
I am rooted in wait
For words that will dig true
You know my nooks
You know just where to stare
On opposite ends we are
But you do not seem to care
You aim well
I bob and weave too slow
I anticipate horribly
You strike the only blows
I feel at ease with your presence
I know just what to expect
Although I remain surprised today
That you have not sent a barb yet
I am still here in wait
You are the sole image I see
I cannot imagine anything worse
Than you not knowing me
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