Handing over a flock of words

Perhaps there

I see a day

I shall say it.

Shout it.

Scream it.

Or whisper it.

This day my voice

Will know the volume

As it finds the ears

Those need the words.

The words

that have been

pending to be heard.

I shall say them

Even if the voice shakes

But it’s the shaking

That means it’s worth.

I shall say it

Because the moment

Will not be stolen

However

It will convince me

To surrender it over

gladly.

Cradling in hope

She is unbloomed.

Not young enough

To know everything.

She likes to believe

That everything

Is short-lived.

Just like this

Dark night

That matches

The colour 
in her eyes.

She has a bed

To lie down,

A pillow to rest

Her frightened head

And a sheet to

Imprison herself

From a creepy

Pair of hands

Approaching the

Growing curves

On her body.

She tries firm enough

To leave no gap

For the sinister to enter.

This entire summer night

She breathes in

Snowflakes.

Staring through the

Cotton sheet

At the shadow

On the opposite wall

With a will to blink

Not even once.

Escape is what

She wishes for

Clutching her

Fingers crossed.

For her

The freedom

Lies in being

A hassock.

And she learns

Liberty is not given

It is simply taken.