my surrender.

you’re small,
you use the sharpest thing
you come with: your teeth.
crooked incisors with just enough
chomp to scare. you’re only
as strong as your bite.
you take solace in song. hum
yourself a lullaby
in the darkest, softest part
of the night. whistle
through those teeth.
sometimes it turns into a prayer,
but you never take responsibility
for those hymnal slips.
you tie up your hair
with rubber bands, always
pulling out more than you put in.
strands tangle
around your fingers
it doesn’t know how to protect you,
but it feels like safety. you pretend
the mismanaged curls are ringlets
in a crown. but gold
has never been your color.
now you lie down,
now you take it. they never saw you
as a queen. teeth alone
don’t count you as a warrior.
they say your name
like a question, say it like
a recitation of something
they once believed in.
you’re not surprised.
no matter how much you try,
the crown will never fit
as well as it did back then.
so you discard the royalty,
so you make peace
with the love you called a god.
keep your hands
open & waiting, for something
like sleep to comfort you.
he’s never been a gift-giver,
but maybe he’ll make an exception,
for you.

heavily inspired by this post


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