Divine.
He was so divine in my eyes,
but he controlled me in the eyes
of others.
His words were far too
harsh for the
epithets of my soul, yet
I listened and let them
label me.

His hold over me
was divine.

His words were
divine with a power
of control
I'd never fallen under before.

It's what I knew.
It's what I understood.
He was my culture,
his words were my cultivation,
and his abuse was my apology,
striving for that of which
I couldn't control,
striving for that of a false dream
that never would happen.

It couldn't,
not when the fiber of my being
offered up no escape.
Divinity was his, and
I was his divinity.