I suppose he thought I needed to be tamed,
or required reprimandation & obedience training,
because he could simply never
let me BE...
myself without an open invitation for some harsh admonishment
or crippling criticism.
I must have painted a target that begged for his attention
on the core of my soul
because he loved the thrill in taking aim & shooting to ****.
He still colors my characterizations of the men I meet,
who ask me for insight into my mind,
& he leads me to question the intention behind
any stranger's simple gesture.
He told me he loved me, but he held me much too tight
like a petulant child who refuses to share
or suffocates a butterfly clutched in between his hands
- because its beauty inspired a selfish need
to seclude it away for one's self.  
He told me he needed me, that without me he would be left
to falter blindly through a nebulous black night,
yet he stood so close to my flame that it was inundated,
& he smothered his source of warmth & illumination.
A fire needs to breathe if it is to rage & be magnificent
- he knew that & he feared it tremendously.
He taught me to fear myself & undermined my capability
to silence those who shook my confidence.
In doing so he left me teetering on a decrepit foundation
& he so delighted in kicking bricks out from beneath me.
He pushed me down & taught me to be terrified of falling
dreading the arousal of self empowerment & ambition
to welcome an opportunity to pick myself back up again.
He tried to tether me to land,
like a flightless bird
- inert & with no purpose.
He thought he had me hooked like an inhumane bully
who allows a fish to fight his line
until it believes it has once again attained liberation,
then roughly reels it in, relishing in sick indulgence.
He thought he had me tethered,
but I am not worn-out & weathered
like an old leather ball
& I am not to be beaten round in endless circles,
the obsolete plaything battered by systematic violence
made into child's play.  
I said no & walked away.
I broke my tether that day.

& I never looked back.

A bright blue police box spins through the sky
Over 50 years have passed, so no one bothers to ask why.
A Doctor in name, but no medicine dispensed
His adventures defy all common sense.

A Companion is always along for the ride
When the TARDIS lifts off; it’s bigger inside.
Our open-mouthed guide every step of the way
Their first visit extends to a permanent stay

The last of the Timelords or so people say
From a long-distant planet they call Gallifrey
Endlessly loyal with a mind second to none
He has never resolved a dispute with a gun.

He never seems to look the same for more than a few years
A fact that has left some in fits of angry tears
But everyone he’s truly known has felt a deep bond
Just ask Rose, Martha, Donna, Clara, or Amy & Rory Pond

Questioning the world and its traditions, his mind often lingers
On the tasty goodness of custard and fish fingers.
His personality leaves cause for some alienation
But what else can one expect after regeneration?

Friends often follow quickly in his tracks
Like Danny Pink, Madame Vastra, Jenny, & Strax
Otherworldly villains into our imaginations creep
Psychotic snowmen, The Master, Daleks, Cybermen, and unrelenting Angels that Weep

Dinosaurs in London, the Titanic in space
Motorcycles driving up Big Ben fast enough to win a race
Green forests of Sherwood; painting with Van Gogh
He can take us anywhere we want to go

And if when the journey stops your lips begin to quiver
Just breathe deep and imagine the Song of a River
Don’t go off the handle or fly into a rage
Open up a favorite book and tear out the last page.

That way, the stories won’t ever end and we can let them be
Soon another generation will come along to see
How a man whose true name remains unspoken
Can face life’s harshest obstacles and still remain unbroken

Twist and turn
Lessons I've learned are burned
Into this fragile skin
And here I stand

One by one
Visible, done and done
Look deep into myself
Unable to see someone else

Run and fall
From reflections, build walls
Trying so hard to stall
But I always catch up with me

Twist and turn
All of these scars I've earned
All the stories still burn
And they are me and I am them

Sleep did not come
and his stomach was a sea
of acid festering on the rotting
husks of swallowed lies
and quarantined pain

objects too sharp to fit into any
puzzle strewn over
carpeted floor   they lie in wait
to **** their tithe

Every one a knife

every stab a cruel joke
painting him into the corner
where he belongs.