Categories
Poetry

Stockholm Syndrome 

By Izzy Weinstein

 

Loosely held in the palm of your hand,

Your Midas touch I’d reprimand,

But my impotence at your commands

Cries insolence to my heart’s demand.

 

Your secrecy marks cowardice, 

Detested but I do not challenge it.

I am seemingly so powerless,

Plead mercy but you’re tireless.

 

I hate the way I don’t fight back,

But curtsy under your attack.

I’m fragile like a paperback:

Your words cut deep and don’t retract.

 

Embodied as a trauma symptom,

I wonder, is this Stockholm syndrome

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