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