Devious and charming, beguiling and alarming,
You stormed in and gently spoke.
Kindly and insidiously, caring and selfishly
You built me up as you tore me down.
How did beautiful become hideous
and intelligent, dumb?
You lied and called me your home
even as you were only passing through.
You settled down but never took up root
in the earth you claimed you were bonded to.
How did want become brute force
and partnership, possession?
You liked that I was independent
but were disgusted that I was stubborn and headstrong
and my self-governance was only beneficial
if you could bend it to your will.
You adored when I spoke
but only if I remained silent
to hide the darkness you worked in the light.
I was perfect-
you swore wouldn’t change a thing-
but only when you had erased
and over-written every last part of me
When did I lose my sense of self
and mirror your preferences instead.
How did unique become eclectic,
then a rogue to be subdued?
You spoke confusion about a tender touch
while your brute force ravaged me with bruises
overwhelming me with affection
that burned like fire with every impact.
How did love become hate,
and appreciation, scorn?
You were inspired to guide me to grow
but led me blindfolded to edge of the cliff
and dangled me over with one hand slipping away.
Words fell from your mouth speaking of faith
but you let loose your grasp and watched me in free-fall.
How did trust become deceit
and truth, lies?
You stood at the edge and watched unaware,
amazed at the efficiency of your plunder of me.
Arms crossed, a smug look of satisfaction
crept prematurely across your face,
and the winds stirred and protested,
the earth shook and groaned,
and a deluge burst forth beneath your feet
and that false security was washed away.
When did the emptiness and despair
that dwelled within burn and crumble
and give way to hope,
a yearning to be free?
How did the silence shatter
and fill the air with the booming of my voice,
rendering you mute in your madness?
How did hate become love,
and fear, security?
But after so long why hasn’t this one thing changed,
reverted back to its normal state and released its grasp on me-
the warped sense of self
the funhouse mirror
in which I find no amusement at all-
the inability to see,
the unwillingness to perceive
which is the real me?