You envision me as a fragile vase,
A delicate thing, easily broken.
I wasn't Cinderella, so you forced me
To wear the shoes that didn't fit.

You paint me with dark strokes, bold and unforgiving,
Every shade to set the tone of my tale.
Then you enscript it into your finest descriptions,
A narrative of sorrow, a life frail.

When I begged to stay in your favor,
My soul worn thin, my heart heavy,
You saw me as a mistake you couldn't erase,
A blemish on your perfect canvas.

You juggled my fate in the palm of your hands,
Every word that left your mouth laced with...