O.C.D.
Yes, Master? I hear you calling me again. I was on my way upstairs, but you stopped me.
I’m busy. You don’t need me right now. I will ignore you. What you want me to do is wrong – I know that – and so this time I will resist. I remind myself that I am strong, but you call again and my steps turn.
I rationalize: it will only take a second...
Master, why do you do this to me? You harm me, you shame me, and I hate you for it. Yet you satisfy me in the strange, incomprehensible way known only to your slaves.
We are the nail-biters (lucky are they), the scab-pickers, the hair-pullers, the hand-washers, the counters and so many others. Like a master puppeteer, you manage us, you direct our movements, you interrupt our lives.
Yes, Master, I will do your bidding again – but just this time. When it is done I will feel shame and anger, and I will vow that it is the last time I will bow to your demand.
Master, will you ever let me go?
Friday, June 30, 2006
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
Excellent! Could it be a poem? with what image or photo?
Thanks for sharing it.
Love,b
Perhaps a better poet than I could make it a poem, but I think it is somewhat haunting in its present form. Poetry might also water it down by letting you know up-front that it's A POEM rather than truth-telling. (Might you agree that a poem - by its very essence - removes the reader ever so slightly from the reality of a situation?) Yes, poems can be moving and emotional, but they are the products of poets rather than the outpourings of everyday humanity.
I can think of no image. In fact, I decided to let the reader (the other one - ha ha) wonder just what the act is, and a picture would be too definitive.
The idea came to me last night - probably about the time you were getting up to run - as my achy bones were chiding me for not taking more aspirin at bedtime. I don't know why OCD crept into my thoughts at that time - no particular reason I could think of, but there I was half asleep and a blank page with "OCD" at the top of it appeared in my brain. I determined to remember it, and so began to think of a first line... "Yes, Master?" was what came to mind immediately. Strange phase I'm in, huh.
I hadn't thought of the aspect of a poem, but you're right, and your writing in particular is very straight-forward. But how does the "outpouring" get read more widely as it should?
Love,b
Post a Comment