Persephone

You were
are the iconic stain in my loins
Proliferating me into presence.
Demeter's progeny
the embodiment being me, and therefore we
are the preface
the rose colored lens
Obscuring my point of view.
Glue smearing, cementing what
He, she could have been
What I now will be.
As if the words have not, cannot, and will not had been forcibly removed from it’s index
and burned from a codex of concepts only to be obstructed
from it's prologue without any addendum.
Into you I turn my limbs into salves
To soothe your battered hands
As you render me into molds
Of alabaster and marble.
The past, a demarcation of a promise
I, a stain in time.
Assilmated into the underworld
Out of your wilted resignation.
Out of a misguided protection.
A self deprecating, slight destruction
Only to have us wonder
Is there all there is?
You were the chisel, the hammer
Creating palaces out of step-stools, foot markers, and placements
Whispering my path into silent ears
Guiding me unto unsteady pedestals
With no foresight or forethought to bare the weight of my fall.
As you carried me with your words,
built burdens of worlds within my womb
I fell,
still fall
Without you to catch me.