Conforming (or not) to form (or otherwise)

It's this belief that I had to leave myself

to love properly, as if I'd be found,

not by some God, but a man. Perhaps not

my brother with his sticky breath,

even my father, but a man,

one to grace me with another title

to choke down, drown under, marry into.

Save me the delusion

of being enough without this practice

of leaving myself to love properly,

being saved, not by some God,

but a man

even if it meant creating one

and it did

so I did

and with him, you,

all of you, again

with your sticky breath

and careless ways.