My Bandaged Pride

Like a baby torn from its mother’s succulent breast,
Like a joey ripped from the warmth of its pouch,
I am knifed from the pleasure heaven once gave.
Not the umbilical cord that tethers me still,

But the flower within meant to bloom.
They said I would be promiscuous,
That desire would drag me into a nonentity,
That it would wash away my dignity.

Instead, they robbed me of the favour of pleasure,
Left me with no joy to treasure.
I cry out like a jackal when I should soar,
Lie still as stone, numb to desire’s call.

I walk the world like a mummified soul.
What will I grow to cherish?
What will I grow to be proud of?
They have bandaged my pride and called it protection.

Now I drift through days without colour,
A shadow beneath the sun’s warm gaze.
They sealed my bloom before it opened
But is this the life they saved me for?