you’ve dismembered my words, you’ve skinned it off its worth. now my movement on paper feels lethal and ungraceful.
you’ve trimmed my goat and turn it into wool, that you sold for a little food.
you’ve turn my words into plastic, my porcelain doll; you’ve made wasteful.

the taste of your venom is spiteful.
you’ve smothered your name on my art, just the way you’ve mothered me this whole time.
you’ve stepped until people snapped.
you’ve wised until people realize.
you’ve gutted my words and i dont see enough remorse.