The thing is, I am not a doll,
or poster to be hung there on your wall.
The thing is, it wasn't just yours,
but in the way of couple, it was ours.
If I'm gone from the house, I must be sulking,
if I was in the living room, squatting and skulking.
I was your thief in a house full of mirrors,
Trapped and bounded in your mansion of fears.
There were things I wanted: to be and to cook.
There were things I needed: my altar, my books.
There were things I loved: your face and your smile:
But I wanted to live without cringing, to have my own style.
And now I am your ghost, or so I have heard,
now that I'm loose from your terrified herd.
And now I am your demon, or so I can see,
Gone from your rooms, and finally free.
And now I've my rooms, my altar, my books,
Can live without cringing or censorious looks.
Can speak, can smile, can tell my own jokes,
Can live with doors open - without mirrors or smoke.