“You are stupid, inadequate duckling,

Nothing good will come out of you.

You’re not witty, not talented, ugly,

Honestly girl, it’s time to face the music.


Your place is clear, so do your truckling,

Lick the dust of glory from our shoe.

It’s the only way.” They told her smugly,

Thus, she became their perfect mimic.


Her desires unclear. Her head in a mess.

Self-esteem destroyed, as was the pride.

She couldn’t voice, and failed to express,

The need to leave their world behind.


A decade passed by. She grew and learned,

In the comforts of imposed loneliness.

It stung her, wounded. It hellishly hurt,

But she found her peace and motivation.


The girl has died. The woman has burned,

The remains of cruel, inhuman lowliness.

She forgave, hauling her dreams through the dirt,

Becoming her own, lovingly crafted, salvation.

5 thoughts on “Craft

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