Desert Days

The tears are different
from the last time,
less salt
more blood,
when a girl's desires
become a woman's promise.

Expectation is a vacuum,
a slow suffocation of reality.
The words disjointed
like my crooked thoughts,
the sentences as aimless
as my own life.

Being is more than I
signed up for -
I didn't have a choice.

My life was never my own.
Birthed by rebellion
an reared by resentment
I am completely aware that I
am someone else's Consequence.

A punishment for defiance,
retribution for heartlessness,
a tunnel into blackness
is what remains of that past
(and it is past).

A person treated as an object
is enslaved
by their inanimateness

But with spite,
I found my feet
and stumbled, blinded
into the
desert days.