Freedom is my right to choose.
I do not consent to the dizzy spells that
Flow from her lips to mine, but it is my
Choice to embrace the chill from her left-
Handed ring, for it soothes my mind.
I would choose to be free of
A politician’s hand tattooing restrictions
Thick enough to break my skin—
A man, not a lover, will try to engrave
His final decision.
As my brain decays, I willingly gasp for
The humble taste of uncertainty—
Humility tastes sweeter than the stale
Breath of self-righteous forgiveness.
But still, freedom is your right to choose.
Like an off-duty officer turning her
Back to a rekindled flame—will
You watch my skin blister if our
Languages aren’t the same?
Picture Credit: Chicago Now