No One is Free

Yes I may seem confident, calm or content yet, there is this, this thing this uncanny tear powering through my soul an embedded fear of being myself, being different.

An imprint of shackles on my soul, stitches interlooped within the cracks of my silenced lips My mind involuntarily chained to authority, passion tearing through my chest, the cracking and fracturing of ribs, my mangled muscles thrash against my delicate skin. Yet,

Halted. Frozen in action by covenants. There is a tempest brewing inside me, a hurricane of repressed emotions barricaded within me.

Yes I may seem passionate, brave and gracious but internally I am withering, petrified by confrontation, fearful of power hungry bodies eating away at my feeble ego, fragmenting my mind, unhealed wounds raw with anguish, oozing torments, infected blood singeing my pale white skin.

I am the prey but with no obvious predator in sight. A shadowed figure lurks behind, iced merciless breath piercing the pores of my scalp. The shadows dip into my body, we do not move, lithe and fearful, evaporating confidence like moisture leaving my lungs as both my lungs and soul crisp, wearied with pain.

No one is free, a constant reminder of power and authority implanted into human nature as if a seed planted in a deserted lifeless vegetable patch.

A Joy, Lower Sixth