Uncertain Surrender

“Sacrifices are necessary,”

I can hear you say

but no.

You mean to change me,

transform me and force me

to metamorphosis into the

Perfect Woman you want me to be, 

like the obedient Cuckoo Clock

on my mother’s blue wall to

chime every hour,

on the hour,

a machine only you yourself

wind up and command.

Control.

It’s what you want

I can tell,

but

you can only strip away

so much of who I am before

there is nothing left,

before I fall apart like  

papier-mâché pieces

tormented and tattered

on this linoleum floor,

wondering

how I got this far.

When comes your sacrifice,

what shall you place upon

the table?

What,

may I ask,

is our middle ground?

For I’m giving up

a part of who I am

for you

but what shall you give up

for me?