i had a spark, once,
and even you said
i lost it.

but did that matter
when all you wanted
was a puppet
to control?

not a human—
just a body
that would not bite
the hand that fed her.

i was nineteen.
impressionable.
impulsive.
docile.

buried by your callous bullshit,
smothered into silence,
i became a useless shell,
and waited to die.

and i could have.
i could have.

nineteen.
twenty.
twenty-one.

too much time spent
draining my fuel,
abusing my muscle,
and slicing my flesh
before i realized

that i deserved more.

but climbing out of a learned hole,
forever haunted by these ghosts,
leaves me scarred and bruised,
for the footing is unstable,
and i have to fall
and fall

before i can reach solid ground
again.