Freedom of Expression Contest
Worth the RiskWorth the Risk
Freedom to let my words fly into the ears of others...
A desire held in my heart since I was four
But denied to me by one simple thing:
The day you handed back to me the envelope containing my soul
You took away my freedom to speak about my feelings.
Writing was my form of speech, because words are hard to say
When depression has eaten away at your ability to speak
And replaced it with the fear of rejection.
As I tore up that envelope my words became locked in a cage;
Birds with wings clipped by your words and actions.
The desire to speak, to be free to let free the emotions churning within me
And pen them into words that would help me understand,
The desire was strong, but the words were imprisoned.
More than a year later I picked up a pen again.
It felt strange in my hand, strange and powerful.
The nib touched the paper and left a stroke of ink.
The ink became a word, the word became a sentence,
The sentence became a poem
And I was free t
The Silent Cry
The Silent Cry
Sometimes, although no words are uttered,
If you listen, really listen,
You can hear someone's heart crying out for help.
It's hurting, they're hurting, even though they won't say a word.
They won't admit the feelings burning inside like acid reflux,
Or to the emotions drowning them in ammonia.
Only a keen observer can see a crying heart;
Expressions become blanked out once starry
Eyes are dull and bleak.
Emotions disappear they feel
Nothing...a few levels below numb.
And all this can happen subconsciously in defence,
Because they could simply be afraid that you would hurt them.
If you can't ask for help and are silently begging for it,
Try not to push away those who can read between the lies
And see behind your eyes into the parts of you where the hurt sits.
They will prop you up if you let them,
Until you are able to walk with confidence again
I locked up my heart in a cage of safekeeping,
Because all it was doing was wailing and weeping.
It hurt all the time because of people like you,
But I thought you were different, I thought you were true.
I gave you the key that unlocked the cage
Where my heart lay broken and withered with age.
Gently you removed it, and love was born,
Then you put it back because it was battered and torn.
Now I'm scared to trust anyone else,
Scared to remove my heart from the shelf.
It hangs in its cage like keys on a chain,
Waiting for someone to hold it again.
I'm a Writer
I'm a Writer
I'm a writer who wraps words around her hands,
Transcribing them onto pieces of paper paler
Than the skin holding the words.
I catch words in my fishing nets,
And they slither and slide slimy and skittish.
Each one is gently grabbed and washed
Until they are slithery skittish words waiting to be devoured;
No more slime or grime, it's time to write.
Each word is taken from its tank
And placed upon the page with careful thought.
Sometimes they are rearranged,
Short words become hidden behind long eels
And so sentences need restructuring.
Some words aren't used and are thrown back.
Maybe next time they are caught they will be needed.
I'm a writer who wraps slimy, slithering, skittish words
Around the pieces of paper where they belong;
Creating poems and stories where there were none,
And loving every minute of it, even if the smell of the words
Sometimes brings tears cascading from my eyes
To stain my shirt.
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