Can’t wait to be as free as Me.
The real Me,
that’s not as powerless in speech, submissively wind up
passively accepting the World’s opinion, only
as I see fit to agree,
too keep my peace.
This Me is released in private,
as chased thoughts are gathered
carried away by the wind’s tease,
As a feather light breeze,
to a mid Summer’s need,
kisses my over spoken lips, and close my eyes,
to allow the gripping attention to my gyrating hip’s,
wildly enchanted by my own music’s, released scent.
A patented railroad arm,
would come down, too track friendenemy’s,
with a personal need to cross me,
taken in by my losses,
yet portraying fair weathered friend’s abilities, at my cost.
As my identity is fragrant upon a Linden tilia tree, spreading out my branches, as my roots are rooted in dust as it’s tragic story’s are beneath me.
For in…