THE WRITER’S PLEA
THE WRITER’S PLEA.
Have you seen a spring before?
Can you remember how water comes naturally to the surface?
I seek to live my life as free
And voice my feelings and convictions without prejudice.
My mouth, my beautiful mouth is broken
Instead of soothing and truthful words, I speak bloody lies.
I’m now a stranger to me.
Please, forbid me to desert me.
You tell me my twins, my lips, my beautiful pinkies are beautiful
You say they are heart-shaped and you love them.
No! I think you said they are oval in shape.
You said you get satisfied just watching them.
Tell me, how can you appreciate their beauty when your big, callous hands cover them?
I can’t even breathe in free air!
The unspoken words in my heart are choking me to death.
With brutality and oppression, you’ve punctured my beautiful twinies.
And locked them with chains of fear.
Ah! With misery and sword, you’ve slit my throat.
I plead that you free my lips.
Liberate my twins, my juicy, pink lips.
There’s a melody in the sound they produce.
There’s healing in the feel of their softness.
There’s satisfaction in the romance they make when together in communion.