i have been, all my life, trying to suppress pieces of myself to please you.
took issue with the way i play with my toy golf clubs? stopped playing with them.
took issue with how loud i sang? stopped singing aloud.
took issue with shirts that showed my shoulders? didn’t wear them to school.
took issue with me having the bathroom door closed? tried to open it.
took issue with the door being locked? unlocks the door and forces it open.
took issue with how long i spent in the bathroom? spent more time there.
took issue with my religious views? agreed and stopped having them.
took issue with my political ideals? harassed me at every chance to change them.
took issue with the way i wear my hair? cut it off.
liked the dress i wore to church with grandpa on Sunday? stop wearing it.
complimented my new hair style and smelled my hair? stop showering.
liked girly clothes and me being exposed for you to see? wear boy’s clothing.
liked that i enjoyed rock music? started listening to rap.
bonded over baseball? never liked baseball again.
bonded over fishing? never going fishing again.
bonded over guitars? made sure i would never play one.
recommended this car? naturally, choose anything but that car.
complimented my new lace bralette three separate times after being asked not to? gave me a reason to feel scared as an adult in my own house.
each and every action you took, determined my own.
this house has never been anything close to a home;
rather an endless maze that you setup.
littered with manipulation and gaslighting, filled with torment of the mind.
so convoluted in shape that we get lost in it, in our subconscious.
was it real? was it a dream?
your maze walls made sure that we questioned ourselves first before even imagining of questioning you.
brick, stone, and mallet in hand, you built a well around me so high that not even a princess’ hair could reach the outside.
he watches me from the outside of this well, taunting and showing off the children he has access to now, knowing he has every opportunity to send them down their own well’s.
being stuck down here with nothing but my thoughts.
knowing that i am helpless in the shadow of such evil, that nobody would help me even if i asked.
knowing that he intended for his well to work forever, not just the span that he lives.
he gave me the mallet after a while and began to make me brick myself in, and told me that i was building a foundation for everything else in my life.
you told me you loved me while poisoning the water supply with hate;
you supported me all the while ripping the carpet right from under the feet i stand on.
Gracefully Written 