Losing My Religion

Dear Sir;

You know who you are, with your chisel in hand, and hammer over fist. Every time you've pushed your way into my life over the last 3 years you've been chip, chip, chipping away at what I am, who I am. Stop. Now. I have seen what your doing, and I am not playing along. I am not laying still. I am not playing dead hoping you will go away. You are not leaving, so I will sit you down.

This is my core. I am no titanium machine; I am a soft stone sculpture. Stop trying to move my pieces. You push your way into my day. You buy me dinner, and DVDs, and clothes I don't need or even really want. I have allowed your money and intensity to shove me into this box you see me fitting into. I do not fit. I am not just some pretty woman. I am me.

I have had pieces taken away before. I have yet to reclaim the pieces of me that were lost, like my voice. I miss my voice. When I find her, I shall scream of the injustices of men who think that stripping away a woman is acceptable. I am more than this.

I have had pieces taken away before. I have yet to reclaim the pieces of me that were lost, like my movement. I miss my motion. I was strong and sure. Today I stumble and second guess ever footfall. I do not like thinking that every move must be run past a man. It is wrong. It will not continue. You will stay in my life at my terms and conditions. If you remain, it will only be because I allow your presence.

Today, you make me sick. You take and push and pull and divide to conquer. You take what is not yours, what is not for you. Give it back, step away from me. You are not in my heart, nor shall you ever have residence with me.