A Hidden Warranty
There I was,
held in your arms,
so vulnerable,
and innocent,
and raw,
and you said you’d love me
no matter what.
I was your angel,
your star,
your treasure.
You were my guardian,
my creator,
my protector.
I was a baby still
in the womb,
postpartum.
And although
sometimes I acted cruel,
you still cherished me,
as though I were your jewel.
They say
parental love
is pure and infinite,
something not even
divinity can split.
And I believed that as true;
even our arguments
never compromised
that one diamond promise,
that one golden rule.
You told me
our love was forever—
it didn’t come with a warranty;
that the cosmos
would keep us together,
and that was the only guarantee
in this wretched world,
in this lonesome life.
You convinced me that
you would protect and
love me,
perpetually.
And I believed you.
All those lullabies
and bath-times
put me under your spell.
Your words were my only
truth, and they
circled around me
like a never-ending
carousel.
I was on that ride for a while.
I acted tame,
fragile,
obedient,
perfect,
polite,
grateful.
I was your favorite,
you said.
But it only took
my fragility to turn me broken
for you to replace me,
and choose her as your favorite,
instead.