Martyr in My Back Pocket

By , Phoenix, AZ
In the back pocket
of my faded blue jeans
shoved under candy wrappers
a martyr weeps.
She has been abandoned
too long laboring
for pride, control, power
but it is all in desperation.
She knows now,
I am not a powerful doll
and that she is not the puppet-master
tugging at my strings.
She knows now
that I will not devote everything
do whatever it takes to win,
lose,
pay.
Now she lives in ravaged horror
knowing that there will be
no endless domination.
She has killed herself.
Rest in peace.
Only me now,
apathetic,
ignorant,
free.
Fades to black.





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