made woman

always take the cannoli

I keep my people close.
Blood oaths in silent nods.
Love thick as concrete.
Mine? You’ll never starve,
never walk alone.
I’ll burn worlds to warm you.

Cross me? Sell me out?
Spit back what I gave?
You’re a ghost.
A name I train myself to forget.
Excised like poison.

I call this survival, not brutality.
Honor, not heartlessness.
But in the dark, the questions wait:
Am I guardian or tyrant?
Protector or jailer?
Do I sever to spare—
or to keep from being seen as weak?

I cherish it — this barbed-wire affection,
armor forged from my own bones.
Nobody scars me twice.

I loathe it — this executioner within,
who decides who breathes in my world.
I twist a blade in my heart
and name it pride.

So tell me—
love or power?
Devotion or dominance?

And if I can’t tell the difference,
am I damned to never change?

If you made it this far, click that itty-bitty digital organ! ❤️