Tell me, when did daddy's little boy
Become daddy's little toy?

sunset bleeds out the day
depleted
thoughts take charge and toy with me

You were like a little kid looking to buy a new toy.

You picked the expensive one because it was
shiny and pretty and new,
but you didn't have enough money.
So you settled for the cheaper toy
even though you wanted the other one
so much more.

Eventually, you were happy.
But you still dreamt of that shiny toy
every time you closed your eyes.

Big dummy, you caught
Run around town like a little thot
Think you know better, but you “no” not

Always out trying to shoot your shot
Scheming on girls like wild thoughts  
Giving out handouts, handouts
Numbers so high like your body count
Name everywhere, you can yell it out

Turn the dial
on my back
and spin me around

Press the button
on my head
and push me down

Ring the bell
in my ear
bring on the sound

Push me off
the ledge
pick me off the ground

Check the crack
in the battery pack
no longer around

You push me,
shout at me,
pull me around
like I exist as a form of playdough;
one which molds at your touch,
like you are my creator,
and I, just your masterpiece.

Like I am an object,
a toy,
some plastic, a bit of wire.

Even if that may be,
even if you reduce me to
be held in the eyes of a child,
is that all I am?
Am I not more?

Does a child not feel?
Not love?
Not play?

How is a child’s love any less than yours?
How am I any less worthy?

I am not a ball of dough.
I am not to be rolled around.
To be pushed;
to be shoved.

I will not let your words penetrate me.
I will stay guarded;
strong.
I will not unravel under the thread of your fingertips;
I will only be picked apart by my own.

Resilient.

Like the last breath of a flickering bulb,
those sweet sorrow seconds of a candle
right before the flame dies down.

I am a flame, and I will be fire,
and I will not be stopped.