I am not locked up, I am the lock.

I am keeping a secret with myself

for myself,

clutching it within like a bird’s claw,

the carrier pigeons have been shot,

guess I forgot to warn the men with rifles,

suppose it wasn’t a clay pigeon after all.

My mouth is a gold crested envelope,

my lips are licked with wax:

they are an inked kiss,

the pout is the stamp,

my mind is the scroll:

bound and bound,

reworded, encoded,

locked by my sharpened nail,

kept by my twisted tongue,

it ties itself in knots,

it takes holidays with the infamous cat…

ironically, only when I command so,

try my openings, hunny

but guess which has closed shop for good.

Look me in the eye,

I’ve sealed each window with blinds

So, you get to guess if I have a soul

‘Cause It’s the only one I’d tell.

There are no gaps in these teeth

for whispers to slip out between,

I am a woman of steel,

you may never steal from me.

🌷 (2)

behind the maskfeminismhiddeninternalpowerfulprivacysecretstrongword play

◄ Misplaced Memory

Sleeping through earthquakes ►

Comments

No comments posted yet.

If you wish to post a comment you must login.

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message