*This poem contains themes of emotional abuse, identity erasure, and spiritual trauma. Reader discretion is advised. Please prioritize your well-being while reading.

Identity.

Fragile. Fickle. Shaped—

by your touch.

Amputated, manipulated, formed—

by your words.

Resigned to be unknit

from my mother’s womb.

Destruction. Distraction. Demise.

My last breath came well before the altar.

Altered by dissonance,

you said,

“All is well,”

even as your iron fist trembled.

“You might be the man

I want you to be.”

In the distance—

my former self,

begging, pleading,

to be seen.

Locked away with your key,

exiled into someone you needed,

not who I was.

Musical notes inked in honor—

a loner’s hope.

But when you tasted my voice,

you spit it out.

Note by note,

you dismantled my self-assurance.

Exalted by sinners, not saints.

Adequate only in your eyes.

Passions—

hobbies—

disillusionment.

Withered to fate.

Cyclical insecurity.

Compounding beliefs.

Toppled

by your non-harmonious deceit.

Retreat.

Still—

I was knit in my mother’s womb.

Undone

not by God.

But by you.

Abandoned.

Read the Next Poem

Ghosts