I'm not quite sure who you are.
At least not anymore.
You were once filled with an undeniable passion:
A plea, a will, a way.
I remember.
You stood your ground.
Hell, you claimed it as your own.
Territory wasn't a term in your vocabulary.
Avoided. Crossed out. Misspelt.
Whatever the reason may have been.
You didn't know it,
And soon neither did I.
A keepsake for solidarity.
That's what you were.
Ironically,
With your guidance I found a home.
A place I hadn't defined in years.
I may have gotten a little too comfortable.
A little too distant,
I'll admit it.
But you did the same.
Fast forward:
And now.
someone has planted a red flag,
Claiming you as their own.
Carved their name on the surface, for all to see.
You're theirs now, sweetheart.
A piece of property dictated by those who rule.
You're just asset on a tax return.
That's all you'll ever be.
