
The things we never said numbered,
Counted out and measured
Against the years.
No voice given
To the bouquet
Of words
In truth I’d have said,
For you chided
Me like a child
When I tried.
A throat choked
By petals, stems, and leaves.
No air to the blood
That feeds the heart.
Need and want and desire
Existing
No longer,
Till I am not
Myself
Or who I wanted to be.
But the version of me
You wanted,
Standing mute
With tongue ripped out,
Defined
And custom made
By your design
To fill your needs
And by doing so
Drain mine,
Turning me
Into a dried shell,
A casing,
Twisted and turned,
Positioned just so,
Used for the display
Of you.
Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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Thank you for the reblog. I’m honored.
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Always happy to share great writing with followers!!
xoxo
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