Prison Body

Prison can be defined as anything that keeps you from your desires. My prison is this body that cannot speak. It holds me hostage to silence, unable to find my beloved, unable to even ask for simple directions.

How can you hope to find someone unless you actively seek? Even in desperation when at night my whole body cries from separation, sweat soaking the sheets of my bed. When I open my mouth I always find my tongue severed at the root. My spirit crying out for love twenty-four hours a day. Locked inside a body that will not capitulate.

Every woman I see, my spirit yells out; "is it you, do you feel something special for me too"? Hey you over there crossing the street. Or maybe that woman in the store working the cashiers’ seat. Maybe that beauty that just passed on her motorbike, or one of the cute girls who work in the market.

The spirit always wishes to behave like a fifteen year old child. Patiently waiting for his next first kiss. The love of a child is the purest there is. But the body being programmed by instinct to survive, it comes to the rescue with a dose of reality, because if my soul was ever repeated by my body, I would be remanded to a new prison.

This one made of rubber, and jackets that tie your arms around you. How different my life here would have been, if I had been born into the right body. When God was passing out buffoons to entertain and take up space, I thought he said humans who can share love in this physical plane...