A Portrait Of A Young Poetess

They put me on a trial;
Neglecting Conformity.
Equality, they claim, is

Well they did.

If death penalty was an option:
They would give me the lethal
shot, the chair,
the gas chamber.
They would have said:
"don't play the innocent,
you lady bitch!"

They would burn me,
stake me, hang me or sell me for slavery,
if only they had the chance.

They put me on a trial,
on a field trial; no jury, no expert in
laws, Humanity, love;
only prejudice.

Suffocated I carried myself away.

Damn these lowest,
judgmental pricks,
Damn these cowards,
the men I fell in love with.

In this body and lonely spirit
revolution is the alternative,
love can be as amazing
as I want it to be.

Is the art
of only
the bravest, the most passionate,
who has no fear in his eyes
to create it for me,
as I am,
as he drinks, feeds off, breathes off,
loves me
as I am,
the rest chase
ghostly images

And when I'll be set free
to love as freely.

I wonder when this trial ends.

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