You perpetrated an act and left the scene
status
intact, theft covered over
leaving
me to unbury the truth
with a
trail of clues
like
the way
my left foot curves inward
impotently
shielding my weakened feminine
or
the way
I always feel, deep inside,
that
something only mine was
taken before
I even knew I had it
or
my habit
of giving myself away for free or very little,
a
childish defense intended only to lessen what’s taken,
not
realizing my power to make it stop
and
the fact
I believe I deserve
to live
lovelessly for acts I parroted in infantile rages,
desiring
to destroy another as I had been destroyed
or
the
myriad ways I self-sabotage
a
self-prophesied, self-compromised almost ran
too
often conquered by her fears
