A Letter Of Complaint Poem by Shakeela Kingzley

To whom it may concern

This is a letter of complaint
See I was told I could be whatever I want
Without any trails or restraint,
But why do I feel so deceived
When the world says that I'm free
And so I dress to my liking
Only to find eyes glued to me?

And when the words escape me
It's as though I've killed a man
When its about sex, drugs or violence
That's when society gives a damn
But other times they are blind
And cannot even see my fiction
Each stroke of my brush is a painting
To show them my own depiction

And why do I need to be labelled
By my beliefs, background or race
Can't I just be a human
Without any trace of debase?

See I just want to be free

Free from their expectations
Free from their ideals
Free from the image
of myself in their minds
Free to express what I conceal

How can I dance,  
with this grip around arm
And when I begin to fall in love 
Off goes that same alarm

Why is it such a struggle 
To expand this rigid fissure 
Do they want me to drop my brush
So that they can complete my picture?

Yours ever so faithfully,
Ijustneedtobefree