BEING HELD
I used to think that wrapped up inside you,
I was safe.
I could watch the world, and not be seen.
As I grew up, you grew cold.
No longer a home to me, but a prison.
I wasn’t safe.
I was stuck.
You, coiled tightly around my mouth, made sure I couldn’t speak.
Those who saw me struggle began to speak in my place.
This only caused you to become stronger.
Out of spite, I was determined.
And, though it took years, I fashioned my teeth into knives and
I cut through you.
Surveying the aftermath, I watched you, limp, unraveling.
Memories and predictions,
Of fear,
Embarrassment,
Awkwardness.
But, you had never really been other.
I had been protecting myself from rejection all along.
Sometimes, I feel like slipping back into that cocoon,
But you are never in the places I look.
I have outgrown you.
I am free.