Upon the announcement of my arrival
my ancestors weaved brillant threads to make a quilt for my bed
with steadfast hands, they weaved themselves a plan
who i was to become, what kind of man
upon the days of my arrival
my ancestors fantastically wrapped me up in the quilt of blue and red
this quilt housed me for many seasons
itched me, pinched me, left me cold at night
bit me, tripped me, straggling my rights
the brillant quilt made to protect became my golden cage instead
their plan created my strife
their plan corseted my life
after years spent suffocating in the threads
i decided to break away from the plan
emerging like a little chick out of an egg
i chose to live my life today
still the foundation laid was unscathed
every trigger sent my heart into disarray
independence fortified, return to the egg
the quilt might be itchy, it might be tight
but it is easier than learning how to fly

if i exposed myself,
every feeling,
every thought,
every miniscule detail
that forms my body,
my brain,
my identity—

i would be dead to you.

(thankfully, though,
i’ve gotten the memo early.)

it’s obvious now,
you never wanted a child.

you wanted a robot, ready to reprogram.
a servant, to do your bidding.
a doll, to dress up the way you want.

you wanted perfection,
not a child.

you wanted perfection,
not me.

you are not my god,
and i will never be made in your image.