Wednesday, December 4, 2013


She snipped at me, carefully, slowly. She removed only those things she considered my imperfections; those attributes and habits that interfered with her vision of a man of her design. Little by little I was shaped and trimmed and coerced to bend into unnatural stances, her obsession acting as copper wire, her neediness as scissors, her tongue as the knife that would eventually cut me away from all influences outside her private universe.

I was her bonsai, her "natural creation", and I allowed it to happen over time because I'd never thought to look into a mirror and see the new me.

Then, as all Doc Frankensteins must do, she went for my roots, to tease them from my soil and cut them short, to eliminate my ties to all but her.

She'd obviously never listened to me. My roots are infinite and regenerative; she'd picked the wrong target. So she moved on to shallower species.

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