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.
shiny pebbles 