The hurt that soared him deep inside,
Sought a sanctuary, a place to hide,
His bleeding ego bled upon me,
Rested on me, weighed against me,
His stinging pride stung my eyes,
Blindfolded them in bloody lies.
His bleeding ego bled for power,
Bled a blood so bitter and sour,
His stinging pride and fallen rank,
Needed help before they sank,
I shouldered all that one could take,
Cautious that I would not break.
The hurt continued and would not seize,
Of being ruled he was not freed,
His bleeding ego bled some more,
Sliding lower, reaching the floor,
His stinging pride yelled out in pain,
Clinging onto that which remained.
His ego bled for womankind,
To stand back and follow behind,
His pride stung for many wives,
To stop dictating over men’s’ lives,
His ego bled and begged and pleaded,
His pride stung and throbbed for he was defeated.
He was not lacking any ability,
Neither was he short of his sanity,
He was as strong as any Bruce Lee,
With the heart of a lion and a soldiers body,
But what tore my heart right apart.
Was that he could not stand up to his other half,
The woman with whom God had united him,
In sacred and harmonious courtship,
But what broke me down most, was this bit,
The fact that I was his blood and skin.
Rukhsar Ahmed
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/his-bleeding-ego/
