The One

Photo by Rodnae Productions on Pexels.

I had a love that felt like refuge, then rage
Sweet like childhood, then a broken cane
I left my sword at his door as my feet bloodied his welcome mat
and I
was half myself and half the opposite of whatever my mother was.
Pricked by needles
I suffered all kinds of silences
Fell into his arms like a bullet
swift
deafening
deadly.
He welcomed me with open arms, then closed the blinds
His face was in my blood
as I thought
he
was
the
one.
With him my future children on his lap
For him I lived half-dead, half-anywhere
while soundless birds
broke my branches with ghostly ownership.
He had to go so I could win
he had to go so I could sing
because I, too, am the One.