Poem: Kryptonite

February 4, 2014

Wildflowers Unscripted Writing Challenge Day 4: A poem

Your number is still in the bottom of my drawer. Punch these ten numbers and I re-enter war. Erase my progress and go back to who it was before when I would fall to your feet and drop my pride to the floor. Punch these ten numbers and I leave open the door, spit back to a time time when you weren’t mine but I was yours.

I am superwoman. But, you? You are my kryptonite.

You’re still an internal battle I curl my fist daily to fight, still interrupting my sleep and fucking up my nights. Still fueling material I can use to write. Somehow I’m going out of my mind now that you’re out of sight.

I am superwoman. But, you are my kryptonite.

You are poison coursing through my veins,  lust is a drug from which I haven’t learned to abstain, love is a socially acceptable form of being insane, so hand me that straitjacket. I need to be detained. Chained or constrained because only a masochist could get this much pleasure from this much pain.

I am superwoman. But you are my kryptonite.

You bring my insides to a flame, bring my logic to shame, so I’m a prisoner of my own mind games, unsure of who I became. Because you are the kind of attraction that is filled with 1,000 watts. This is the kind of attachment that could survive high caliber gunshots. So it should be my immune reaction to walk away from this dying plot. There is dwindling satisfaction left in the memory of everything we are not.

I am superwoman. But you are my kryptonite.

 You make it feel good, almost great, to sin. To detach from my world and tune in to your skin. Somehow, you are the pain, yet you also make it subside as I gladly subscribe to this roller coaster ride. Because the lows are lows but the highs are so damn high. Mountains growing in between us but I ignore the divide, my insides are unraveled but I ignore that I’m untied. My heart a barely breathing organ, but I ignore that I have died.

Because I am superowman. But you are my kryptonite.

You feel bad and good and wrong and right. So each time I walk away, we somehow reunite. Because you feel bad and good and right and wrong. I am superwoman but with you, I never stood a chance at being strong. You feel bad and good and wrong and right. I am ignoring the flashing red lights that are within plain sight. You feel bad and good and right and wrong.  You’re a hurricane tearing up my life, and I welcomed natural diaster all along. Because you feel bad and good and wrong and right. You feel bad and good and wrong and right. You feel bad and good and wrong and right.

Who cares that I am superwoman?  You are my kryptonite.

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