I am a garden, once open and wild,
Roots once deep, sun-fed, soft, and mild.
But now my flowers feel crushed by stone,
In shadows, I bloom, but bloom alone.
Promises whispered, like dust in the air,
Words like silk, then vanished bare.
I twist myself to match his mold,
In his warmth, I feel the cold.
He lays his kindness at my feet,
A balance sheet in love's deceit.
He names each favor, tallies each care,
As if love's worth was measured there.
My gifts dissolve, unseen, unweighed,
While his are debts I must have repaid.
To speak my truth feels like a crime,
A thorn I hide, time after time.
Hands that once lifted, now weigh me down,
Soft touch, hard edge-a lover, a crown.
Yet here I am, rooted, holding tight,
Wishing for dawn in this endless night.
