I carry the weight of my words on my back
My shoulders slumber,
My blades cut deep- edges and wrinkles,
I give up my name for a few pages;
I exchange it for some inky utensils.
And I scream under hefty shackles
And the stillborn weight of my unsaid, unuttered, unarticulated utterances;
I shudder under undisclosed, unstructured, underconstruction sentences.
I scream and I say:
Let them cut my veins,
Let them rip my arteries,
Let them take a good look at my words
So they bow and kiss the majesty of their robe-
Of their own accord.