Even Masters Bow Down to You

Hallelujah- Holly Henry Cover

Dear You,
You had your grasp on me again last night. I laid in our bed and you began to play your little game. I thought the game was over, but you came back in the wee hours to have another round. You love our little game. I hate it because I lose every time.

The rules of the game are different this time. Instead of keeping me up every second of the forever night; you allow me to drift away from the playing field.

Once I drift away and feel that I am finally beating your sweet body, instead of you beating mine, you sucker punch me. I always call foul when you do that. The referee always misses this blatant technical. I hate the referee. He sees everything I do wrong, but misses every blow you hit on my body. I feel like you and the referee are on the same side, actually I know you are. You have to be. Never has a game been so played, and frankly played out. Never has the score been so intricately written before the players walk out onto the field: you and me.

Last night you came back for another round. I thought I had finally won this stupid, crippling, game. I thought I was a victor. A Champion. I thought I had finally grown stronger than you. How stupid am I! Of course I am not stronger than you! You are stronger than anything when you creep into my bed, into my world. You are such a dark, domineering visitor. Every time you show your hideous face, ready to take me on the field, I bow down to you. I can no longer surrender to my God. Nope. You force me on my knees to bow before you. As long as you are in the room, I can be slave to nothing else but you. We are slaves to so many masters. Slave to the grind, slave to the house, slave to our kids needs, slaves to our church, slaves to our friends, slaves to our work, slaves to our bodies, slaves to our thoughts, slaves to our joy, slaves to our fears, slaves to humor...I am guilty of being a slave to all these, but the second you enter; even my masters bow down to you. 

I hate you. Never have I really hated anyone, but I deeply hate you in the darkest way. I hate the way you hug me so tight that I choke. I hate the way you kiss my lips so rough that I cannot kiss you back. I hate the way you touch me, with a vengeance. You are never gentle. Even when I beg for you to be gentle. No, you like it rough and tumble. You are never done until my soul is bleeding.

At the end of this game I hit the showers, really the tub. You won again. I sat in the hot water, scrubbing your scent off me. You have such a wicked scent. As I scrubbed I listened to a song, in order to fill my thoughts with anything but you. "All I ever learned from love. Is how to shoot someone who outdrew ya'" You always outdraw. You always come with every weapon at the ready. You have a wicked draw.

Now I beg the Lord for sleep. To become dead to you, and the memory of our last battle. All I know to do is weep and write. If I weep I can feel me, instead of you. If I write I remove your poisonous lips from my mouth, and I have a voice again.

Wait, does this mean I actually win? I survived you. I survived the heart attack of you. I am still here after you whispered in my ear that I would be gone to you.

I am still here.

You did not win this game.

Dear You, AKA Anxiety and Panic
You lost.
The slave has become the Master.