They are pulled from me;
Stretched, knotted, and
Burned in a fireplace
Where trust and human emotions,
Are turned to blackened ash

I am left an empty roll.
The ribbons of my feelings,
Manhandled, manipulated
Mitigated, and misunderstood.

Because of them,
A once beautiful, glittered strand
Is now to be damaged and rough,
Like sandpaper.

She is forgotten,
Watching life move on,
While she lies trapped
In a box;
Scared and miserable

All because she's been used,
And played with like a toy
That had grown from being cherished,
To a tool of destruction.

Where everyday she fears,
If her colors shine too bright;
An opening of the heart,
Will be an execution of the mind
And body.

Never will those ribbons be
Returned to me.
Because of them,
The ribbons may as well
Never even existed.

As in their mind,
The only ribbon
To be treated with care,
Is their very own.