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Freedom

 Hurt is my warden, memories hidden behind hazel eyes.
Dis-Trust is my guard, under lock and key, I rarely attempt to fly.
Sex is who for I’m the Bitch; acts that satisfy but don’t fulfill.
Fear creates my heavy shackles, Lies compose my chains;
Self-Imprisonment realization, as I choke down bitter pills.
But as I carry this sentence out, I begin to believe
Hope can be my pardon, Pain could be my release
Gift of self is my ticket out and Service my reprieve
Freedom is ultimately in… me...loving me.
Written by domore2014
Published
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