The Jar

You knew you could not keep me and that caused insecurity.

Like holding a butterfly in a glass jar, the air was running out and I was suffocating under your love (or lack thereof).

From one damaged soul to another.
You had set me free only to swiftly trap me once again inside a prison, this time made of glass.

My furious wings tapping to get out, but I could not even remember how I got in there in the first place.

Iridescence and reflections became all I knew.
And you? You were overcome with lust and power, a sinister endeavour like plucking a flower.

You clipped my wings, but I didn't even notice.Too busy trying to shape myself into something that you wanted because myself was never enough.

You saw me as a prize and found a spot on your shelf for my jar.
Only occasionally to look at and be seen from afar.

With no regard for my quality of life or understanding I have my own dreams and dharma to explore. Now I just had to wait for you to grow tired and bored.
I loved being loved by you - but it was more pain than pleasure.
A dull ache that remained until you left my life.
But what I did not expect was for it to resurrect into a different genre of anguish and longing.

Towards the end, I don’t know if by letting me out of the jar you were helping or hurting me further.
When pain is constant sometimes kindness breaks too, so unexpected and new.

Baltasar told me ‘it’s common for lucky people to have very favourable beginnings and truly tragic ends’.

But I hope the opposite is true, for my sake.  
Or else this life is a darker place than I imagine anyone could make.