Some do not live
By the scales of truth.
They study.
They copy.
They catalogue you.
Something to possess.
Devour.
Consume.
Some hold intentions
Of silk-softened malice.
Honey sweet smiles,
Teeth jagged and callous.
Passive words laced with fake.
Envious eyes and hopes that I break.
Simply here to take, take, and take.
My ideas, my voice, my light my space.
As though I was made for them to trace.
To mimick.
To muzzle.
To mutilate.
To capture my spark,
And feed off my flame.
Hollow bones and hungry hands
That steal from my plate.
That siphon my magick
Like it is theirs to claim.
That buckle my knees
And mock my faith.
That clip my wings
And laugh while I pray.
Petite- not palatable.
So make no mistake-
You cannot embody
What you did not create.