She Who Holds the Reins
The Beast Herself
There once was a man, a collector of sorts Who held me in his palm. Impressive in size and wit, a beautiful beast noticed by others, men and women alike. So smitten, so early, so with ease he tucked me away Under his arm for nigh seven years Masterfully, he kept me, not to love and cherish, but simply to hold. In utter awe, blind adoration grew as did my belief in the illusion that he cared And that we were a bonded pair. Bound, tied, yoked, as though he had handed me reins. Testing their power, my confidence grew For she who holds the reins of the beast is a beast herself And I had come to believe myself she.
Alas, in time, I came to see the bond was trauma-forged And the reins but a tether, easily snapped the moment she called.
Once there was a girl born of the same innocence as all, But born to a beast of a man. No walls, no reins, "be free," he said from her day of her birth, And free she is, quite limitless when behind her his girth is planted, Responding post-haste to the slightest tug as a well-seasoned gelding. For when the beast spawns a child there are no reins Until they appear held in the hands of the jealous teen And in his eyes, the fear as he meets the princess prematurely turned queen The moment she glimpses the boundlessness of field. A conqueror he was before her birth, conquered now himself, Beholden to the child.
Perpetuation extends with a force detrimental beyond current imagining. No vision can adequately prepare for what one is unwilling to see, As things foreseen are often made inaccurate by human sight and personal bias, Reality long crumbled, originating from self perception. Preparing for what one deems worst leaves us unprepared for reality we cannot imagine.