Conflicted

It's a struggle

My body squirms every time my thumb hits the blue arrow

Reveal too much and I become a slave, she's the Jew's Pharoah

Conceal too much, she may turn away,

This is my conflict, my new peril.

Games of tug-of-war in constant rotation

Every piece of mind and soul is in shackles

No appeasement, no probation.

She's in control.

She has the hold.

She is the ruler.

There's truly nothing crueler,

than this round of deception that has in circles

No black and blue, but my heart's bruised in purple.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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