I read books of my own choosing.
I think my own thoughts.
I write about my own convictions.
I have no teachers, professors,
administrators, school boards,
bosses, editors, Facebook “friends,”
not even an audience—real or imagined—
to tell me what is or is not acceptable.
There are no golden handcuffs on me.
I am dangerous because I am free.
I will arise and go now,
For your hearth is cold,
And your cupboards hold nothing for me.
I thought I should have some peace here,
But that is a treasure you’ve buried,
And you’ll show me no map.
Your eyes are all a glimmer.
I caught a glimpse
As you turned from me to her.
The good-bye catches in my throat.
I clear it, then cough,
And embark upon a quest for my coat.
Finding a pen in my pocket,
I think about leaving a note.
Instead, I just leave.
My heels click on the grey pavement
That leads away from your door.
And I revel in the freedom I have found at last.