The Freed Consciousness

My mind wears a collar,

but the leash lies loose behind.

They tried to straighten my spine—

mold it into silence,

teach it a foreign grammar of obedience.

I sat still.

I swallowed my voice.

I faded into shades of beige,

blending into a quiet crowd of quiet things.

But inside—

storms of questions raged,

lightning striking beneath cold facts,

until truth began to sweat and drip.

Why.

Why.

Why.

Say it enough,

and it twists,

a tongue biting its own edges.

If I catch the why—

not to crush it,

just hold it softly—

maybe then the when will whisper,

the who will grow uneasy,

and the where might pull up a chair and say sorry.

And peace—

perhaps it will slip in,

quiet as a secret visitor,

hoping to be noticed.

They looked at me

like I was a sculpture left unfinished,

obedient.

Tamed.

Silent—

like a toaster unplugged,

a well-oiled machine without a spark.

But beneath the calm,

my mind drifted—

jellyfish thoughts pulsing,

rebellious and tender,

marching across a chessboard

only I could see.

The body may bow,

but the mind—

the mind broke free long ago—

barefoot,

hand in hand with why,

laughing

as they slipped through locked doors