The Thirteenth Alchemist

Patchwork Love

It’s not me that you want
At least not the intense, untamed, incorrigible me
You’ve affixed a mental mold – a preconceived
narrative of what a woman should be
You prefer me as putty in your hands
Pliable, yielding, unquestionably conforming
While you, a singular master of your craft
Lovingly pare all my choicest bits away
Remade, censored, silenced
Frankensteined like a patchwork quilt
Gorgeous to behold, I’m sure
In an abstracted, unholy, fragmented way
A caricature maybe? Fashioned to obey
Lovely yet lacking, a program on replay

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