Have you ever had someone read your diary? It makes you feel violated in a way. That’s the same way I feel when someone reads the thoughts and drafts of poems I have jotted down in my notebook.

A thief with a crowbar prying open my head
Taking my thoughts without consent
As if you had the right to them
To use at your whim
My creativity stunted, my creation
Ripped from the womb of my mind, aborted
Never given the chance to come to fruition
It’s no surprise that my spirit is barren
Unable to bring forth life
For fear of its children being stolen away
While yet being developed within me
Or its thoughts staked out by a maleficent invader
Yet somehow I am viewed as the villain
For giving voice to those thoughts
You wished to silence and giving birth
To the offspring of my life experience
Who is really the perpetrator here
To be found guilty of criminal acts
©2011 – Andrea J. Shannon
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