Haughtily and cruelly stripped down from the
Most righteous creature, the Devil celebrates
And encourages any Fool to confess her bonds.
Together, we roll in them with a derisive
Chuckle, and exchange our sexy smiles, but in
My confusion, I’m unable to finger exactly
What happened to turn my world into a dungeon

Of delights, and I’m hip to the fact that
Struggling to get out will only make the
Ropes tighter. Thus, I submit to this infliction
Because I believe I need the well-deserved lesson.
Making sense of all the choices I made to avoid
My own power by identifying with artifice and
Artifact rather than this soul now trapped,

This has become my mission, and when I finally
Have it in hand then I will need no Alexander
To cut through these knots. What I get is
That hiding in what was inculcated so long ago,
Is worse than any whip the She-Devil can produce.
I spin on the coin I was trained on and until
I feel the pain of walking on broken glass shells.

copyright (c) 2012 Amanda Morris Johnson

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