Glen Hope, PA USA
|(I have to add a little disclaimer to this one so I am not overwhelmed with replies asking me if Iím okay. Actually, I am fine this is just something that needed written out. Despite the obvious sad overtones to this piece, I am elated to be able to write it, to the point where I almost titled it ďI Am Woman Hear Me RoarĒ...lol. Anyway, this poem, I think, says a great deal coming from someone who played dead for over 15 years...isnít life and freedom grand? )
You Canít Make Me
You can dress me in designer clothes;
paint my face in the latest shades;
and show me off to the world
...but you can never make me perfect.
You can find all my missing pieces;
coat me in super glue;
and put me back together again
...but you can never make me complete.
You can bind me with your possessiveness;
shackle me with fear;
and beat me to submission
...but you can never own me.
You can pretend that everything is all right;
lay me down beside you;
and take my body
...but you can never make me love you.
The poet's job is to put into words those feelings we all have that are so deep, so important, and yet so difficult to name, to tell the truth in such a beautiful way that people cannot live without it. ~Jane Kenyon