Sun through dirty windows

For seven years I grew to know,
That I was just a toy to own,
A thing to treasure and possess,
An object left upon a shelf.
I was a prisoner by default,
Locked up in silent madness, thought,
To be less worthy than a pet,
No visitors, no dreams, no rest.
Untouched possession hated now,
For all the reasons I wouldn’t bow.
A tiny piece of dignity,
Left to smolder there in me,
And so each time I walked away,
I was told I had to stay,
“I was cracked.”
Tired of broken promises,
And empty gestures then called love,
Of little things you knew would hurt,
That piled on, eroded worth.
I shouldn’t have to live this way,
Not one more second,
Not one more day,
Yet still my silent form is there,
Still my feet are one the stair,
And still the tears fall silently,
When I can hide my face from you,
Must I now die to prove you right,
A withered husk withdrawn from life.
You couldn’t fix what you had broken,
Couldn’t wreck the voice you’d taken,
Silently I’m writing now,
To feel the worth you disavow,
And one day I will prove my worth,
And feel the sun upon my face,
Standing on a far hillside,
I’ll laugh and dance, not have to hide,
All that was inside of me,
All you tried to make me leave.
One day you’ll see,
I wasn’t broke.



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