To Caroline

I have always heard the world whisper your biggest flaw is my conscience Because in words I convince you a universe of me. They deceive you, Caroline, they deceive you. The motions my pen move are not your annotations, they are mine. You are the ink and the words are me; it is essentially the paper that separates us. You have a porcelain face of obedience, not I; I, the raw truth of humanity. You bare the ripened fruit of insanity, not I; my breasts are tendered with genuine faith. You are lured to a rabbit hole falling through preposterous regulations, not I; I am confident enough to walk away. You are a little girl, seeking the embraced acceptance of the world, but I, I am life, independence, a woman. You are property of the one deemed “yes, mister”, not I; I roam free with all, because to all I have the liberty to express my own insights. You keep quiet and cry, not I; I break the bonds and ride with the ocean waves, I scream loudly. You are a slave, submissive, without a say, bound to expectations and punishment, not I; I gallop wildly in the fields where the sunset awaits me. You have no voice, controlled, ridiculed, your mother, your father, your brother, the teacher, the priest, the conductor, the love, the prayers, the laughter, the chains, the emotions, the fear, your self-esteem. No, not I. My heart is my true master. The only dictator of me is me. You, pearl of society, and I, pearl of freedom. You must satisfy your world while I, no one. You are obligated to stand in prideful name, but I, the disowned rebel; we are the “neither can live while the other survives”. But when the earthquake strikes your core, volcano erupts and covers you in ashes, forest fire destroys your certainties, and tornado finally spins away your sanity, I will be above the rubble, waiting with strength held my hands.