He stays with me like a handprint on my soul

He calls me skittish,
he says I act like a beaten child and he understands why.
I agree that I view him with caution and cower waiting for the next blow.

There are no bruises upon my body.
Describing myself as broken hearted is a joke.
My heart beats strong,
my body moves forward with purpose and strength.

He seeks me.
To share my bed,
my life,
my success,
my addictive ego strokes.

I have fed him pieces of myself.
Each piece he takes deepens my chasm,
the part of me where self respect, identity and sanity is housed.
Without him,
the trembling dwelling rebuilds so rapidly.

He asks for assurance.
Confirmation that his one good day is viewed,
as being on the path back to me.
A canine companion needs the same.
A hand upon the leash and a pat on the head for a good deed.

Another pet.
A faithful dog who stands beside me,
to protect me,
love me,
adore me.

He apparently loves and adores me.
I wonder why?
Where is the faithfulness,
and where is the protection?

I have always lead,
dreamt,
healed,
fixed.

He can lead.
He can dream.
He can heal.
He can fix.

I just wish he would do it for himself,
and thereby be doing it for me too.