Poetry 1

In the forest, she wakes,

morning dew kissing her lips

and caressing her cool cheeks.

Wet grass brushing against her skin,

she is reminded of a time

when her brain was fresh, like iced tea

with a spritz of lemon flavor,

and free

of the chains that now clamp down her lips, her voice, her song.

This is what she has lost,

(this freedom)

and now, here, she feels it.