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Freedom
February 2, 2024
If I want to be free to live my life, I have to do it myself.
Stuck in the prison of your opinions,
I must free myself from you.
You pretend to understand
But you don’t know me, just your image of me,
The one you so carefully sculpted all those years ago.
If only that clay were malleable so I might form it again,
Show you my joy, my happiness, my independence
But also my sorrow, my yearning, my grief.
If only that clay were malleable so I could show you me.
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A poem about feeling trapped by someone's views