You took my body as your own.
Molded my bones to build your temple.
Stretched me, swelled me, fenced your home to spin your web.
You saw your budding toes while mine became hidden.
The darkness inside me a safe shade from the harshness outside me.
My heart beating above you, my breath fighting for space against you- all the soundtrack of your squirming little dance.
A seed of a child sown within a child- sapling to infant, girl to woman.
I grew you.
You grew me.
You took what you wanted, stole it. But I would have given it to you.
The gentle havoc you wrought left me dazed. Was this body enough for you?
You took it all, took it over, erased the child I was to color the child you’d become.
The tiny heart of you beat for every step I took as a girl, and every tear I’d cry as a woman.
I made you.
You made me.
I’ve watched you outside me. Raising hell.
The tearing, gnawing, ripping of your wicked escape healed.
My bones are stronger for you, for all the times you’ve sought my shelter.
The evidence of your presence remains- the web you stretched me to spin.
Your toes are bigger than mine.
And the harshness outside me is no match for your fierce indignation.
My heart beats in secret for every moment of freedom you steal, the open windows, the stretching- inch by inch- of the cord between us.
I hold you.
You let go.