Photo: Flickr / shelmac
Poetry

Why

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I want to fly

‘Why?’ He laughs

To feel the wind on my face.

He pushes me off the edge

‘Feel the wind on your way down.’

Down I go.

Boom.

Splat.

Crash.

 

I want to sing

‘Why?’ He chuckles

To hear happy notes.

He shoves rocks down my throat

‘Now try to make a sound.’

I choke.

Buckle.

Cough.

 

I want to dance

‘Why?’ He scoffs

To feel my rhythm.

He pierces my skin with needles. He sews string

He pulls my limbs up… an arm… a leg.

‘Dance to my rhythm.’

I dance.

Arm up.

Leg up.

Arm down.

Leg down.

I dance to his rhythm.

 

I want to feel

‘Why?’ He is angry

I am complex, I have layers.

Out comes his knife

He peels back my skin

‘No layers see, just flimsy skin.’

I smooth it out.

I apply pressure to the wounds.

I bandage the cuts.

 

I want to think

‘Why?’ He shakes his head

To explore my mind.

He cuts open my scalp, removes my brain

‘Here, look, explore your mind.’

I take it from his hands.

I try to put it back.

I hold my head closed.

 

I want to be free

‘Why?’ He bellows

It is my right.

He bags my head.

He shackles my hands.

He ties my feet.

‘Try to be free.’

I try.

I try.

I try.

Bag remains.

Shackles too.

He remains.

I too.

 

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