Freedom

Sara Haque

I have been leaving the key

To my flat

On the front door.

Once. Twice.

And I stumble on the thought that I might do it again.

Completely. Intentionally.

I have been looking at water

tipper tapping on my stationary car's window and see I've

caught a dark pool of eyes.

I have been staring too long.

Reaching out to a word from behind imaginary bars,

Freedom.

To dream a dream.

To love a being, like me,

unlike me.

To live, as a mind. A body unbounded by shackles of physical mould .

Freedom.

From people I respect out of fear or fear out of respect.

For unbridled thoughts and eclectic concoctions of desires.

I have been screaming

into

the back of my head.

Where I cannot

control its volume.

And a whisper sounds

the same.

I have been squishing the last

lumps of soap until my fingers threaten to bleed with half dried froth.

And terrified molecules.

I do not find my salvation.

My freedom.