Secession of the Spirited Soul

    Tis’ beyond familiar frontiers I’ve coveted to leap, beyond timeworn grasps of solitude. Here I am! A rebel! No longer servant, nor slave. I’ve embraced secession. My body’s my home and I have right to bear arms for the sanctity of its dignity. So tragic it is that, so few chose their ear to their mouth; speaking of my own life-ending ambitions. In fact, it only emboldened me to rise and wander stoically into the sunset of my life!
     I want the cause of “my home” to smite injustices, injustices which reigned over a reticent youth, whom sought refuge in peaceful seclusion, covertly, for most of my life. This is where concepts of “home” evolved within me. Beyond my flesh is air, polluted in foreign judgments. Within my flesh is a mold, purified in novel dreams.
     The tongue I speak draws quizzical looks. The gusts of words departing these lips, evolved in this   isolation. A sovereign language: Gothic-Surrealism, my vernacular’s rebellion found its own dominion through the permeable confines of the “normal” world. I’ll speak, but speak not carefully, just originally. I wonder of those who’ll plant the hooks of their stares into my words, their eyes hunting the moral.