Paper Crane.

Made of such perfect folds.
Creased with your nail,
So perfect, sharp.
Crisp and new, such a
Long project.

Made for their beauty,
Awed in simplicity,
Folded and folded,
Reverse and again.
Wings to bend down,
A perfect paper crane.

Is that what I was to you?
The perfect piecce of art?
Made for you, to be what you want?
Is that what I was to you?
Did you want me to fold here,
Bend backwards for you,
Be as you wished?

Were you trying to create me?
Make me into what you wanted?
Were you trying to
Force me to grow into
A perfect dog,
A bodyguard that loves its master,
A lover who has no sense?

Do you even remember that quote?
I showed it to you, and you agreed with me.
At the time.
You should still have it,
Unwilling to throw it away,
Laughing because you can't remember
Who you got it from.

"Which dog is smarter,
The one that obeys every command
Or the one that thinks with its own head?"

You agreed-the latter.
I said-the latter.
It's only now that I see
I was the first dog.

You told me to hate.
You told me to hurt.
You told me to love,
To love you and be
What you wanted.

I hated them.
I hurt them for you,
I loved you.
I was made to.

Now I see the sense in my own words.
I will never be your dog.
Nor your perfect paper crane.