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you hold my hand and i think 

i’m supposed to feel good.
loved and protected.

i think. i don’t even know,

all my prior loves 

have been so tainted.

always abandoning ship

while i drown in the wreckage.

but your hands feel like handcuffs,

strapping me, restraining me,

controlling me. 

i am a romantic. trust me when 

i tell you, that this isn’t love. 

you try to turn me into your 

personal perfect puppet. 

telling me what i can and cannot do,

and threatening me with things 

you’ll do if i defer 

from what you ask of me.

i don’t know what branch of evil 

that is,

but it is inhumane.

a place where no love can flourish.
-Allison Ryder 

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