He

He grabs me with sense-shattering force
Hands firm, purpose, no distraction
It looks like surrender
It feels like the end of me

I pretend to be alive
In control

Fingers and nails digging the wall
my anchor, my confidante.
I whisper and it holds the words
burying them in the grainy, white paint

He wishes I were different
I know what he means

He wants a challenge
I am only shoes-glued-to-the-floor
Mind numb, useless
Body on its own

But none of it is as bad as the truth
The terrible, heaving, monster-truth

I'm afraid he will leave.

And then it's just me
sitting inside myself, unable to crawl out
thinking things that Grow Ugly
A dirty, huddled mess