This is a Thing

Not a Todd poem this time,
only a thing.
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you've been filled,
emptied,
and caged back again.
Brown hair curling higher in the heat
and white shirt lifted up,
leaned over and letting
the mechanical pseudo-fire
warm your earth-colored skin.

your own unowned hands,
charcoal-black in your mind,
wrote down countless words
on paper, bound between red skin.
but in this room, you find your wrists
chained down and out of reach.
relentlessly fighting to remember
all the names they used to write.



An animal, taught there was beauty in the world,
then made to leave the world behind.
once, you were content here.
but now you dream of breaking the chains.
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That came out terribly far off of what I had planned.
I'd stuff it all into a box again and bury it down, But it took so long to come back out last time.
Now I just feel aggressive all the time.