She poured her heart into loving you whole,
Each feeling a bell in her delicate soul.
Yet your fleeting rewards leave her craving, confined,
Conditioned to chase what controls her own mind.
You dangle your scraps when her heart starts to ring,
Her saints sacrificed for the fleeting joy you bring.
Too clingy, too tender, too selfless, you claim—
Too broken, too tethered, too caught in your game.
She must bend or break, or learn to abide,
A toy in your hands where her feelings collide.
Yet her pain becomes art, each wound a new start,
Her brushstrokes of anguish, a map of her heart.
Some marvel at colors that dance on her canvas,
Blind to the scars where your sharp triggers vanished.
They praise her creation, unaware of the cost—
The weight of your bell, how her spirit’s been tossed.
She’s a warrior, unyielding, though conditioned and torn,
Her strength forged in silence, her art reborn.
Through the chains of your chime, her light fiercely glares,
She fights, she creates, and she rises, she bears.