What Else Is There Poem by Alison Rosalie

this time, i’ve braced myself;
i’m waiting.

in honesty i’ll admit that
i’m more than sick of this..my
guts are always puckering
stomach never stops sighing
brain persistently rapping
its knuckles on the inside
of my cellskull, whisp’ring,
“goddamnit, i’ve got to run free,
oh won’t you let me see the world? ”
guess my eyes aren’t clear enough;
no matter what they see, mind
is still stuck inside of me,
can’t feel much of anything
but a flux of persisting anxieties.

well i have to admit i am
getting sick of this.. and ‘til you
beg me i’ll keep waiting; i’m
so deathly ill from tugging
with grimy fingers and a grimace,
sick of starving up a storm
when you aren’t serving me sweet-speak
with your polished aluminum spoon;
well god it makes me pale sick
to see myself at your side
staring up with that silly grin
asking always your approving smile;
and maybe you’re no liar, maybe you
might lay forever to love me but i’ve got
chains snaked around me, can’t wiggle
let alone swim and i’ve tossed the key sea-deep -

freedom is but a memory.

time’s stretch and refraining from begging
is all that will keep me

from sticking to you and expecting
somehow you will really save me.