Unbound

 Unbound

We share a table of words for the children’s sake,

yet sit on opposite shores of a silent sea.

Two strangers wrapped in a paper called marriage—

a paper now torn,

its edges cutting my hands.

From the first breath you spoke into me,

truth was dressed in masks.

I poured trust into your empty vessel,

and it leaked,

drop by drop,

into the dust.

Loyalty—

you never knew her name.

Even with two small hearts between us,

you are still a shadow I cannot touch.

You wear a ring,

but it circles no love—

only a performance,

a stage lit for the crowd,

while the script hides in your mother’s hands.

You fed on the bones of my hope,

twisting promises into tools,

turning my life into a lesson

in survival.

But I am unbound.

I am the wind past your locked windows,

the freedom you will never taste.

May the earth take you gently,

for law cages the rage I will not act upon.

Your story ends where mine begins—

and I walk away,

alive,

unshackled,

and never yours again.