Mirrors

You can take it from me,
You know
I am not giving you permission
so much as giving your intentions a dialog
You can rip my feebly claimed security
from beneath my stockinged feet.
I will drink this in too,
Bitter spirits
with rocks are thrown.
And I take pause to ask
almost laughing
Are you a spiritual man?
Can you see him?
Gracing me with this happiness
this fragment eluding to my longing...
Then allowing you
Enter destruction
Send me down - Though I do not fall as hard as he once sent me
My creator is welding a weapon
Using the hardened fragments of my soul.
You are a pawn in his creation.
You do not/should not feel so smug anymore.
You have no power here.
This pain does not belong to you.
It was allowed in you - because for some reason
My father felt I needed to be hurt, once again.
Transformed into something stronger
Ever stronger
You strike- you cannot even see your puppet's strings.
I am not unbreakable
But he's still working on me - RIGHT KIDS? - TO MAKE ME THE WAY I OUGHT TO BE
You may draw a tear today.
You may hold to that tear, treasure it in a glass
that you can look at any time you feel free - you are captured - you are allowed your every sordid move.
And one day, I will look up.
And the mirror will show me the masterpiece.
The willing and capable servant, strengthened by sorrow, molded from disappointment - lies and betrayal, they signed this girls year book. And he will show me where I need to go - what catastrophe required such a monster.

Will I then laugh?
Do I sound cold? Angry with my father?
No. I am awake. There is a battle. He sees me fit, But what he sees must be molded.
It hurts.
I cry.
I don't understand.
But I know the weapon within my breast will protect my child.

So forgive me if I am not stunned by your guile.
You are a whetting stone
I am a dagger.