Stopping to ponder on insecurities, I found my own coalescing and threatening mutiny. I've grown bored of my usual haunts. Stretched beyond what my mind can conjure interest. Where there once was fertile soil, now barren fields of apathy go on as far as the mind can perceive. Ghosts forever taunt me; forever are in misery of every loving thought I hold. They sleep in my shadows, lie in my bed, burrow next to my cold skin. Fluted music, melody once as sweet to me as nectarines, have soured in my ear, in my throat … In my heart.
Here, wrapped in my anonymity, forcibly restrained by my own frailties. Bound are my feet by birth; my hands by class; my will by the servitude of my sex.
I am nothing more than a servant, humbled to thee by chance- enshrined in memory of none. Lost in my wander, feverishly beckoning to those who pass me by.
See me for what I am not, not what I am. Want for what I am not, not what I am.
Let me glisten under light not found by common experience. Let me dance in the rain not fell upon spoiled ground.
Do not let me languish or despair my circumstance. Keep me from brushing into mires of thorns; words of brutal sacrifice; in feelings of inequity. Let me reflect upon me as a smile... A casual touch of warmth or even slight glint of eye.
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