In Defense of Delilah

I want you to know, Samson, I would do it again.
Even though it means the ruin of all of us. I would
Purr at your heels, take your head in my lap,
And slice those curls right off.

But not because they paid me, darling.
You and I know better than that.
We both know there are few things so expensive as falling in love
How it costs so much more than you ever think it will.

No, not because I was paid.
There was a night, Samson, I knew
What strength was. You breathed into my ear
And whispered, "Woman, take me in."
And I did.
You were heavy in my arms,
Draped like a dress across my torso.
You shuddered and slept, a pile of raw sinew, but
My hands were wide and consummate. I held you
Like Atlas holds the world
And in an instant I knew what it was to be strong like you.

But do you know what it is to be weak like me?
To have other men believe that you exist for them,
That you are edible, conquerable,
That they can legislate your body.

Tell me, Samson,
If you could unroll your veins like a scroll
What would I find written there?
I do not believe it would be the same story people tell these days.
I think it would say you loved me because you could bring me to my knees

Tell me, Samson, did the bible ask your consent when it told our story?
It sure as hell didn't ask mine
And I want to set the record straight.
I cut your hair because
I wanted you to wake up and face something Byzantine
That claims to protect you from your own decisions
I wanted you to try and fail to tear it down
I wanted to make us the same kind of vulnerable
And, Lord help me, I did.
I am not proud.

But history will paint me sinister.
Put me in with Jezebel and Bathsheba.
I stand with them as I stand with Eve saying yes to the apple.
I will link arms with other women
And we will cut off our hair too
Because our strength comes from someplace deeper.
And our blood will answer the cry of thousands of Philistines
And our blades will not be stilled.

Samson, I don't want to be this angry.
If there were any other way, I would take it.
But until another option presents itself, this is where I stand:
Razor in hand, I would cut your hair ten ways to Sunday
If I thought for a minute it would make us even