They bless the beast unbroken. Virgin limbs
to leather, wrists and ankles first to squeeze
inside a strap. Your feral glint goes dim
too quickly once you feel the trap. The pleas,
an easy emulation cover rage,
and panic, frustration. Subdued by lash
until surrender, sobs to silence, cage
you crawl into its corner you could smash.
A being bound whose beauty is to run
undone by masters' pride at what they make
behave. You bow believing you've just begun
while they hunt for something new and wild to break.
You thought they'd keep you once they made you tame,
but broken things do not enchant the same.
I swallow shame. It makes me small. It tastes
of daggers down a throat sliced raw. Its stabs
so shallow, striated gut, wounded place
that must stay shut. Ingest insults, the jabs
and jokes, I guzzle greedy like you chug
a Coke. Reminds a mouth that misbehaves
the consequence of all it craves. My drug's
denial, and it elevates. Enslaves
with pleasure then procrastinates; my lips
it locks through one more lunch. A bite
of melon if I must do brunch. I sip
on serotonin. It's shrinking me. Slight
and shivered still I fight to fit inside.
Denial’s more delicious than denied.
Kristin Garth is a poet from Pensacola. Her sonnets and other poetry have been featured in Anti-Heroin Chic, Quail Bell Magazine, Infernal Ink, Fourth & Sycamore, Digging Through the Fat, Moonchild Magazine, Mystic Blue Review, Speculative 66, Mookychick and other publications. She’s currently constructing a poetry dollhouse chapbook entitled Pink Plastic House: Three Stories of Sonnets. Follow her on Twitter: @lolaandjolie and her website kristingarth.wordpress.com.