Draw Me Down

I sold my soul
to the lowest bidder — 
the only bidder
for fear there would be no other — 

But where is it written that 
I signed away my identity
to become a statue made out of clay
molded and remolded to fit a vision
that doesn’t fit me ...
 
That I have no voice
unless to speak in blind agreement,
that my back must bend backwards,
my shoulders carry the entire world
and my thoughts be carbon copies ...

That I am chattel 
and you have impunity 
and every wrongdoing you commit 
is my fault?
 
Pick at me like crows
pecking at discards on the roadside  
in a frenzied fury;
bang the drum, 
incessant in monotones, repeated,
in echoes that bounce inside my head
until I explode

Drown me under fifty feet of water
where sounds become muffled
and vision becomes blurred,
then condemn me 
if I crack and crumble 
under the weight.
 

 

january 2011