I am the Product of Splintering Pressure
I am the product of splintering pressure.
A home defaced by powerful winds.
I stand here
stripped down to my foundation
cemented to the ground
unable to hide.
Their opinions like weeds,
Demented, they grow over me,
suffocating any hope
of finding myself again.
I am a prisoner to their perceptions
succumbed to their scrutiny.
Naked and dehumanized,
a calf awaiting slaughter.
Their looks shape and mold me,
my shoulders are heavy with their burdens.
I am perishing and bruised
under their unbearable survey.
I have lost all that I am
to gain their approval.
I long to know who these people are
only to look in the mirror
and see their probing pupils
staring back at me.