[Insert Epic Title]

The daughter of a mother is growing up to be slaughtered

I am growing up to be married off to someone strange

But

Only if I allow it

This is a presumed assumption

This is only right if I had complete lack of any kind of future possible 'any-kind-of-answer-will-do' knowledge of the answer to the question "What do you want to do with your life?"

Which, thankfully, I do not

Oh, don't fret about those woes, for they are mine, let me have them to worry over

 

 

In another dealer's hand, I am once again thrown into, and rummaged for parts, then thrown away in a heap of scrap, waiting to be reused

I forget just where I am, my lover gone with an ashtray and only the good parts that make up my mood

I am suffocating without those good parts

I am nothing without my good parts

 

 

I am scared and alone and have no one to help me

I can only talk about this matter with my dearest bosom friend, the one who keeps saving me

In turn, I save her as well

She says I can manage fine on my own, she gives me so much strength and in doing so, I am grateful for her being born, had she not, who I to call her my dearest bosom friend, truth am; I would not be able to

Where are all my truth seekers?

Do they not know I am here?

Let me be your messiah, oh broken spirits everywhere; let me be your guide

let me be the fair maiden to rid this land from you, replacing it therein with carpeted wool; please, lift up your feet so that I may work my magic, so that I can give back what was stolen from us; our innocence and our youth

And for those of you, whom I’ve missed, those already married off; I am sorry I wasn’t brave enough to lead you then, but at least take note of my bravery now

 

 

He doesn't love me, because if he did, he would never leave me here without my good parts

He is selfish, misunderstood, blamed by all who seek truth for manipulating it the way he sees fit to, the way it'll benefit him

I was a fool, a bloody fool; yes, covered in fools’ blood.

 

 

She says something about fate

Let it be, dear Heart; let it be

But she does not hear me, she does not see that this is killing me, she does not understand

And yet she seethes every time I say this

“You do not understand how it you don’t understand is and yet you are the one that gave me to this world?”

 

 

I tell myself I am fine, alright, just peachy; I tell all my worries to go away, there are people around that want golden orbs in my hair twisted in a way that milk curdles at the sight of me, flowers printed upon my cheeks and the ink sprinkled upon my tongue; heresy: to my eyes, a bloodbath in the name of love

I am nothing like my counterparts

I have wounds that won’t heal because they are afraid to, when was the last time I opened up this way; what is wrong with me?

Have I no shame, has all rationality abandoned me? Has all my sanity been recklessly only breathing to see me come to this day, the day that I no longer am fearful of who I am and how I came from?

There is hope inside each wall I tear down, courage inside each heart I touch and wisdom in everything I say, so take note of all my mistakes and learn from these broken bones; be you of my people or not.

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Honestly? I can't quite sum up this poem. It's a mix of both my pain from relationships and my mom's expectation of me, tied together with a nice little Freedom statement. By the way: im not really good at captchas ... so apparently im not human.