|This I love, but not so much|
some of her earlier stories;
should anyone care what I think,
which they probably don't and won't.
I fell under her spell
as others fall under a bus
I survived, bruised and broken
to worship her the more, I must.
Till she punched me in the face
for having the gall not to die
Took me on a wild goose chase
to make me believe the lie.
Told me the tables have turned
when I know they can't and won't
Made happiness hollow and hokey,
till the darkness cried out Don't!
Then she wrote:
'There are limits to what you can accept,
even in impossible things'
and I felt I understood again
the sweetness in the sting.
And while I keep on going
for that sweet stinging thing
I can't and won't accept
the need for sisters to be grim.