Shame Poem by Melissa Hurst

My heart throbs for a male strumpet,
my strings are manipulated,
poor puppet am I.

I am ashamed
and hide such adoration
in lines and stanzas.

O, it agitates me
and brings sickness
that cripples my soul.

His face cursed me to fall,
each night I am clumsy as I slumber,
allowing him to chastise me in dreams,
and bring forth further pain at dawn.

I hold the knife
to sever the tie,
but in secret I would rather
cut out my own heart
than to abandon his sweet memory.

What cave has my logic escaped to,
where has it hid from my crazed heart?
I hear it's soft call when I am prepared to let go,
but my heart intercedes
and conquers logic once more.

I have mine eyes,
but they refuse to see
that the object of my crazed affection
has no room in its heart
for me to rest and attain satisfaction.

We are puzzle pieces
that I yearn to fit together,
no matter of the differences.
What other man is there
to satisfy my empty side?

Such masochism has made me weak,
where is my pride?
Too much love has brought me to
this self-defeating state
and I fail to rise above it.

A crutch cannot hold me up,
no self-loving words can hoist my spirit,
and I am ashamed of such weakness.
I am embarrassed
by my pathetic pining.