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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

a short poem describing the word "suppression"

Suppression is a bird who tied to the floor,

Clipped of her freedom and given no more.

She is the words you decided not to say,

All the shut-ups and stuck-ups that stand in your way.

The kisses and goodbyes stuck on your lips.

The wants and the needs of your fingertips.

The dark sides that never get to see the lights.

The “go this ways” and “don’t pick fights”

The forbidden love and lust we all share.

The longing and loving that is a burden to bear.

That tongue-tied fool sitting way in the back.

That horrible, wretched feeling like walking on thumbtacks.

That cage she sits in, that poor little bird.

She is poked and prodded with every word.

She is that plaything, that pure-hearted girl,

Whose name was lost in a dirty-minded world.

She was kept in that prison, that cage, that trap,

Because of her showy dark clothes and “I don’t give a crap”.

Oh what’s this? That strutting peacock over there?

That’s the boy that the bird was forced to share.

Now he flies the highest, and he is showered with praise.

But little suppression stays locked up for days.

Now her label is her name, no word against allowed

But to her freedom she sorely vowed.

So now and then she dies, and her feathers fly free.

And I can certainly assure you, I found many in me.

Submitted: August 27, 2015

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