when that which harms feels right

The years
have lined up my spine,
traced its route
from heel
up to where
neck meets head,
where my hair is fluffed,
innocent and unaware
of this injustice.

All this time,
I thought
this stiff cord
drawn against the length
and the loss of my soul
would hold me up,
suspend me,
make me the iron warrior
I thought I wanted to be.

Did I want to be a warrior? Yes.
But one with heart of duck down pillow
and purple irises.

This yardstick of titanium
that works so well in the movies,
has broken my creative hand,
my freedom of thought,
my ease of Spirit.

Since it was implanted for me
when I was a child,
my back, my will have been broken.