I attached pins to his words;

wore them like badges

sewn onto my breast.

Accomplishments, they were.

Skills attributed

to an adherence

of another’s will.

Another’s way of being.

A projected accolade

to which I conformed,

reflecting nothing more

than his desires;

a mirror of his intentions.

How proud I had been,

to be his decorated soldier.

My medals shining

more brightly than my heart.

The velvet lined box,

taking pride of place

above and beyond

any of my own desires,

which sat muted

in the shadows of a love

I could never make whole.