poem - Least of You

UNBECOMING

It’s the small things that go first

The way you like your tea with bark honey

What you do before breakfast

Before making the bed the way he likes

No one notices, least of all you

Those things didn’t matter too much

Not like being seen

Being seen feels like sunshine

Until you start to burn

Under his gaze you light up

Then you squirm

And finally you start to fade

Everything revolves around his gaze now

Even when he’s not in the room

You are waiting. You don’t know why

You are waiting for him to return

Your mind starts playing tricks

Have things changed? Have you?

Why can’t I remember details

You used to be good at seeing small things

You stop eating

Not all at once. It’s not dramatic

It’s slow. Measured.

Like other aspects, ingredients go

You like the gnawing ache

Reminding you that you’re alive

Reminding you that you’re in control

You despise being full, lethargic

You stop sleeping too

That is more sudden

You sweat and twist

He snores. Has he always? You don’t know

You catch yourself in the mirror

Of a building you stepped into with purpose

The shape of you is faded

Your edges muted and waiting

Your disappearance happens outside in

Like a puzzle being made in reverse

All the pieces that make you start to fall

When you go to catch them, they are gone

Finally it moves to your core

Your memories shift, shimmer and fade

Your desires spark out

Your purpose has become his

You are the mask of his creation

One day you pick up a weight and lift

You feel your strength quiver

It is only a matter of time before you return

That is how you know you are really gone.