I was sixteen when you first gave me that necklace;
the one with my name carved on it; all cursive and perfect;
the one with your picture inside the heart of the pendant.
You had your smile that only curved on one side
your teeth half-showing; all white and glinting.

I wore that necklace all the time —
it was a gesture that allowed me to let you know
that I was thankful for the kindness you have shared with me.
But just like all good things; it must all come to an end.

Your precious necklace; wasn’t a thing for me to wear —
it was a thing for you to grab onto when you feel like I’m on loose.
It was a thing for you to hold to keep me close; to keep me controlled.
It wasn’t a necklace; it was a collar with my name all cursive…

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