in the dungeon of freedom

Never once shrunk from the choices slammed into my face,

Never shed tear or plea when I was dragged at a crazed pace,

Never bore the mark of failure– only mask of grace.

 

Always. I was woman, independent. Always, I was girl cast in iron and stone.

Always, I roamed free, defiant. And always, I roamed free, alone.

 

Sometimes I meet people who strip their skin, baring stories similar to mine,

and never once do I blink in recognition of a scar, or mark, or line.

And it’s not shame, and it’s not fear- it’s something dungeon, something master.

It’s something stuck in my chest, alien, something caged in husk of plaster.

 

I smashed the walls, I scaled the mountains- they told me there’d be sky!

I rejected weakness, bonfire confessions–never once did that girl cry.

I swam through oceans, dry-eyed and wild, headed to the heaven of the healed-

Drank all their potions, till I was no longer child, till I sported sword and shield.

 

But, still! They never told me that the sky would be this vast…

And we so small, with so much aching underneath our tongues.

I send you pigeon now, with note and map… hint for help, at last-

Breathe into me the will to weather, this last storm in my lungs.

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