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.