Don’t Let Me Love You

Or I will turn you
into something unrecognizable

if you were a novel
now you’re a drum kit
waiting to be thrashed

if you were a beautiful man
inked and boiling
with love for some awful woman

now you’re my young neighbor
who only leaves her house
in short shorts and heels

spied through my window
oiling her hair– your hair–
into licorice twists

I’m so tired of being
your daughter, I never want
to hear the word patriarchy

again, I want one day
where I am someone
else, turned, god-smacked

into beauty, loved out of recognition
by someone exactly like you.


About evanduyne

I'm assistant professor of writing at Stockton University, where I'm also affiliated faculty in the Women's, Gender, and Sexuality Studies program. I work on Sylvia Plath, contingent faculty, and creative writing around trauma and domestic violence.
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2 Responses to Don’t Let Me Love You

  1. Did you mean “gobsmacked” as in, astonished? “Inked and boiling” are striking juxtapositions of images. I really like this poem.

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