Darling, I know they, control you, won’t let you
Escape from the fear sown in you
Wrapped up, in boots made, of concrete, laden feet
To shuffle and cower out of view

These stones and, these sticks make, for kisses, caresses
Compared to corrosive abuse
Sculptured, by razors, you’re molded, eroded
The smaller you are the more they bruise

Don’t play, the role they, wrote for you, this corkscrew
It twists ever downwards and skewed
You’ve out-grown, the games in, this playground, stand your ground
The enemy resides in you

Shame forms, like rust on, the sedate, in self-hate
Soils sheets in, the bed that you stew
Breathe deep, and rise up, to scale heights, balloon like
These memories will fade out of view

Copyright © 2012 Dean Stephenson