Poetry With Me

You wear your name like a sentence.

something you were burdened with against your will

and yet you placed it upon your wife

requesting her to take it,

to choose you,

and endure.

You punish her for loving it

and for simply loving you.

Can she not see how you suffered to obtain it?

The heartbreak it took

to get a piece of your past to stick

Never offered,

but forced to be broken in,

forced to make it fit.

Still,

you beg to be called by it.

She took on your burden

and was forced to live up to the weight of it,

offering it to your children

like an inheritance

they were simply born to get.

And deep inside

you resent her,

you resent it all.

Because you know.

And I know.

It was never yours to give.

It was never really yours at all.

This crown placed upon your head

from your mothers blood, sweat, and tears.

It’s still never been yours.

From broken bottles and bruised egos,

violence created through the years

I can see right through you in the light

You gave it away easily to them,

you gave it willingly,

as if it were yours,

without a fight.

With Love,

GV Rioz