Spilled Ink

Poetry has allowed me to spill my confessions,

as though they were

the ink of healing and creation,

to combat the saboteur.

The one who forced

his way into my history,

and took my happiness just as easy as he coerced

my silence, by threatening to distort my image with his mask of ministry

Poetry has given me a space

to share my silence and fear,

with the freedom to confront you, even when I can’t to your face.

My poetry gives me the voice, so I don’t cower to you when we’re near.

You may be able to coerce me by the knowledge you hold

but everytime I break the silence of shame, for just a moment, I am no longer controlled.