So I usually write poetry (haven't in a while) and post it here for no one to look at. I am going to follow the lead of someone I hold dear and use this medium to put my thoughts into the atmosphere, just out there for you to pick at:
I have always loved the story of Samson and Delilah. Strong women have always intrigued me. To be beautiful, cunning, aggressive, and notorious for being the sole agent of bringing the unconquerable to his knees. I like her, not her motives or her actions, just her and her spirit. I have a running joke with the love of my life "that every word in this song is gonna be about you" and it is.
There is a sick sense of satisfaction that comes from destroying something that you helped create. I spent hours twisting, pulling, clipping hair that was never made to lock. I spent years forcing, prodding, begging for something that wasn't meant to happen.
And all of a sudden, after years of no no no, a half assed suggestion is offered up. A subtle understanding between two people that doesn't need an explanation or definition. No riddles, no soldiers behind the door, no frustration or threats, just a simple "Yeah, let's do it".
I grabbed my scissors. They had been used so many times to cut off bad memories and heartbreak. I asked him if he was scared. He tilted his head back and waited for my fingers to follow the paths they had made through his scalp. I looked in the mirror at our reflected forms. The roles had changed, weight had shifted,and the scales were finally beginning to balance.
There is a sick sense of satisfaction that comes from destroying something you helped create. Delilah looks at the man she loves knowing that she will hurt him but only her hand can undo the mess she made. Her future must be bound to his either in gold thread or iron chains.
So I cut away his locks. Bathed his head in water. Clipped away the past and all the bad memories and then took a step back.
Delilah looks at the damage she's done. Samson will never forgive her. She has taken away the one thing that has defined him. The source of his being, his purpose.
I asked him what he thought of his new look.
He asked me what I thought of our new life.
