Somewhere along the way
the meaning got hijacked
safe became soft
a haven for isolation
castles instead of refuges
sanctuaries of sterility
infertile walls
fires switched for thermostats
war cries for teleprompters.

It didn’t start with you,
these chains around your throat,
the shame immersed in your blood,
threads of pain spun long before your birth.

It didn’t start with you,
the shadows of choices you didn’t make,
by hands you’ve never held,
by hearts you’ve never known,
yet their echo skims the surface of your skin.

Strutting through life in polished shine, 
a second hand version of the image divine
Overly curated, put together and fixed,
like a magician with skills in illusions and tricks
Stacking filters on images, 
reflections of imitation gold,
but truth—where for art thou TRUTH—lies in stories untold.