Too Many Pieces Broken

He settled neatly in her broken places
The places where pain resided
And like the others, she would leave a letter
A note to lovers and future partners that she is too many pieces of self to figure in love
A collapsed self, an infrastructure weakened by too many encounters of heartbreak and false hopes
She is too many years of stolen identity
Mending herself into the mold of ‘perfection’
Of designing the perfect wife, the perfect lover
Dying daily dangerously, deaf to her inner-self
The need, the urgency, to unfold herself from the prison she had made of herself
The tape she kept across her mouth, the sealed heart she forbade herself from listening to
Believing that she was only meant to be a wife of he and the mother of some man’s children
For this was the next purpose of she?
To perform, humbly to his every call
To satisfy his every thirst, to cause an eruption within his bedsheets to create a home, a family
She told her this
She was taught her roles
She was commanded to fulfill her duty of woman
To open herself wide enough for her man to delve into her temple
To let her temple become the playgound of the one she marries
And to simply let him do his thing
To let him vandalize her body, no matter her reason of wanting to say no
She is too many pieces scattered
Too many pieces of advice to truly love, to give a lover, a partner, her essence

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