To the Man in my Life

There was once a man in my life,
he meant everything to me,
he meant love,
he meant hate,
he meant happiness,
he meant pain.
There was once this man
who possessed me,
from head to toes,
from the tip of my fingers
to my thoughts.

I was completely his,
no questions,
he said, I did.

Life showed me its darkest sides,
and my adoration
became fear
fear to talk,
fear to go,
fear to come,
fear to be.

There was once this master who knew,
everything going on,
in my soul.

I used to kiss
the earth he stepped on,
I used to spit
on his back when he left.

This man was my god,
the one who could do all,
the final judge
of all my acts.

I became his Fausto,
giving everything
for his touch.

There was once this itchy need
to break up from him,
to run away
from his breathless dome.
Then the strings tying up
my wrists to his,
split apart,
and he cried,
like the child I am,
he shouted my name,
but I didn't listen,
I covered my ears with my hands,
dirty with guilt,
and looked away.

I put distance
between his pain and mine,
once I freed myself,
my value increased,
the place for me in his arms
was refilled
with anger,
bitterness,
I wondered every night
whether I was happy,
or maybe
I had been born to be
his slave.

There was once this man
who closed his eyes,
without saying goodbye,
who crossed the line,
between life and peace,
who left me quietly.

There was once this man
I used to call Dad.