contrariety

my voice was loud before it was bound in corsets of words and rules
and should I try to saw at the bindings that trap me I’ll find that they are the same arms that hold me
there are fingers clamped over my mouth my silence a pathology I’m trying to shout
but those fingers are the same that run through my hair, that hold onto mine through trauma we share
there is a hand wrapped around my heart, I can’t even breathe I’m falling apart
but it’s the same hand that is warm on my back, helping me up but confused by my lack of interest in disappearing in a world that will stifle the colors and music that fill up my life I’ll be sure to keep looking thought for some kind of sign
that the freedom I had will someday be mine
because when I was a child my blankets were warm, and i rejected the injustice written off as the norm
I saw pain and sorrow and I knew it was wrong so I spoke it loud, my bleeding heart raw
I screamed my rage to the stars in the sky, only for silence and a question of why the world would ignore my fears, as if not even those who bore me could here that i was crying
that the light inside of me was dying
so instead of a mic or an ear or a stage my voice was bound to conceal my rage
a noiseless vacuum it was pointless to shout, inhospitable to fire so it gave up and sputtered out.