For a thousand times
that you've been through the motions
of your masquerade,
I understand,
nobody warned you about mouths
crammed with infuriated fires,
each take aim to be shot through you.

You have mastered the art
of veiling the damage:
a little rekindling
not to mend it over,
only to stop the utter fallout.

For a thousand times,
every dark of the night
that you've trembled when you shrink back
into your flawed self,
you've heard your demons
hum the melody of the undamaged:
"Never good enough.
You must be this,
you must be that."

For a thousand times
that your demons taught you
to seize the blaze
that once hurt,
that once made you snivel with fear,
with angst, with hatred,
little by little,
I sighted you craft yourself
into the brink
of a monster
you said
you
would
never
be.