My Voice, My Choice
A small voice from a flowered dress
“Will you listen to my tale?
What I have now to confess
Is not for those whose hearts are frail.”
A curious mind, the answer yes.
“My tale begins:”
My purpose was of love
Never ending, ever flowing.
Life given by a kiss above.
My spirit ever growing
My body never filling a glove.
Gone away, over the knoll
Wanting direction
Finding rejection
No will, no voice of my own.
Asking for my hand, a mole.
I shuddered, puttered along
Wallowing in sorrow
I found my flight to beyond
My wings, my swallow.
Both cornered, forging a bond.
Freedom, my choice, my life.
Riding the wind, my voice heard
Above the demanding strife
Above all else, my words:
“I will not be your wife”.
My advice to you, in trying times
Speak out, out, to the villains
Who mute your words, a crime.
I know you’re tired of the billions
Saying no, no new rhymes.
“But you’re ready to shine.”
Speaking faltered, heard no more,
Just an echo in my soul.
Leaving the relentless war
Thumbelina's words my goal.
I am ready to soar.