©Patricia Harris 2017
I shed my wings for you,
Tearing free each piece of
That which made me.
Ripping out blood and bone
To become that which
You have always known.
Making sure that I could
Never again take to the wind,
For to become the one
You imagined that I would be.
I shed my wings for you,
And then you turned away,
You said goodbye.
Pattimouse 
The imaginings and desires of an other can be such a painful Procrustean bed, and hobbling, trimmed to fit only to be discarded. You’ve said it more beautifully.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
From Pattimouse, a poem of Procrustean tragedy
LikeLiked by 1 person