Unyielding

Will it break, will it stick.

May it take, to the brink

Will you prey, will you pray?

Can we fake, or coexist.

Will it bend, would I mend

Are the suppositions in any way less than pretend

Is it grand, or divided

Sinking sands or concrete and beguiled.

I am wild, direct and begrudged.

Will it break, will I miss

May I take, or hear a list

Carve names on bullets for guns I never own

I was hoping there would be tears.

I was hoping this would take away my joy.

It has not.

I am free.

Every wish and hope poured for the chance of connection.

Every urge to leave me the fuck alone, kept in a tiny box labeled, for later.

To be seen, regarded, redeemed, understood and heard.

The thing that surprises me the most is how I am disappointed in a lack of dialog.

Now, I am not owed any explanation.

And I agree I was not myself, trying too hard to fit.

Then again, my desires are genuine, even if severely miscommunicated.

Will it break.

It already has.

I refuse to walk on eggshells

I refuse to be told to be silent

It is the most shortsighted thing to utter in my direction, if you have an inkling. if you possess even the teeniest of smudges of insight into me as a person.

You know I love to speak about what I care for.

I refuse to be something I am not

I am not silent.