One hundred strokes through curls like coal,
Tamed into submission like my secret soul.
I played the good wife, docile and compliant…
and you forgot I was always self-reliant.
There was no silver spoon between my teeth
as I helped my father gather heath.
You thought I’d be a docile wife,
after all, you’d saved my life—
Taken me from the cold, dark moor
to your house of glass with the marble floor…
You thought to break my untamed spirit,
and, indeed, you did come near it.
You had me writhing in fear and doubt,
every time your whip came out.
Instead of love, you wanted pain—
as you proved, time and again.
But now my true self comes to light,
as I brush my hair with your bone so white.