Forbidden

Ink drips from my eyes like rain from the sky
As I spill my emotions on this old parchment.
Words are like forbidden fruits: desirable,
But they scorch my tongue in punishment
Until the bitter taste makes me try no more.
But my heart still longs for things I can’t say,
Beating weakly against its barricades.
Butterflies swirling in my stomach, eyes ablaze
At the thoughts of what could be
If only I had the courage to speak again.
But I’ve been beaten into submission;
I dare not speak out. I dare not speak up.
I dare not defend the doormat they made me.
I’ve become a place to rid their demons,
To wipe their insecurities and doubts on me,
To emotionally manipulate and abuse.
Until my tears stain my pillows and my mind.
I wonder if I should set them free,
The whirlwind of phrases I’ve collected quietly.
They boil and bubble in my brain,
A formula so dark that the storms reign free.
Gentle secrets, silent pleas, shouted curses
Spill over from my storm until I cry and cry.

I wonder if I should set them free.
In a passionate display of liberation
Or a final stab at the heart of my oppressors
If I decide to abandon the life I’ve created.
But for now, written word is my only vice.
Only that they have not stolen from me.