The Golden Throated Woman

She tries to speak
But gets quiet with mystery
She listens to the sound of shatters  
Like it's her perfect symphony  
The lust of her future cravings
Puts her in an exotic place
She makes sure she's far away  
So, there is not a single trace
Her voice sings a gold mine
It's her only way of knowing
The independence of being cold
With a sweater she'll start sewing  
The experienced desire  
Of her lost and found
She's feeling the texture  
Of being a queen, not crowned  
She wants to make her point
Or even one at all
The sweeter her voice is  
Is the harder she falls
She doesn't know herself
Along with the trauma held in
Because she was forced to be silent  
And taught that pain is golden