Susan King

Protest poem

Don't try to use me like a hole, dug out of dirt,
a drop spot for dead ideas about my surface.

I am not a ditch (void, and violable), a storage
for stench held bags of garbage crammed leaking.

Don't try to clothe my eyes with a veil of vanity
so that I can't see the dissection of my body.

I am not a pattern that can be altered by snip,
snip, snipping pieces re-a-rang-ed, deconstructed.

I  will not be buried alive, will not be blinded by pain.
Pretend I don't exist. I'll write myself again.

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Susan King.
Published on e-Stories.org on 09/23/2011.

 
 

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