November 1, 2017

Cold chains of security with the comfort of bars
In constricting melted velvet of burgundy tar
Puzzle pieces missing from a picture of whole
Unaccounted for factors of a significant role
Censored stories and a torn printed page
Confusion and disappointment in hurtling rage
Outbursts of confinement and makeup smeared,
Pity’s conscience of empathy in star-soaked tears
A prison of dying hope and lethargia’s house
The minuscule squeaking of the mortified mouse
A home that was not a renaissance or womb
Explored my dystopia, a crumbling tomb
I finally escaped, worse for the wear
Blossoming in the absence of oppressive spring stares

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