Locked in I was
and grey spatter I spit
under fear I crept
for satan's name, used so,
at my dawn and at my wake

my own voice, soft like flowers who tremble
under trees so steadfast

then upon not one, but many
a sunrise, my voice grew up to be wind
      ~my love out-loud in the living room
        prayers and fears to sentence my mouth not one more day

Freedom knew me
my pen knew what it wanted at 11
picking it up at 27
never so brilliantly
has ink bubbled