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.
—and i know you will never accept me
