whichever.

Ah, to be freed from the tyranny of forced articulation
To set my words free
Free to soar at will
wherever they fair
To no longer be told:
think this,
say that,
write now.
To be released from the hold of manipulative literacy
I long to dance upon the page
Steps scripted
yet not.
My hand, it desires to run
to skip, to jump
or to crawl
whichever.
My words are full of joy
full of pain
full of loss and gain.
Yet you wouldn’t know it
For confinement of expression.


But persevere, anxious words.
Your sentence is temporal.
With the sun comes your manifestation
In forms as never before.
You shall dance,
run,
or crawl.
whichever.
Until then, rest.
Your time approaches.
Anticipate your release.