No. I Don'T Poem by Onyi Ogwumike

No. I don’t.
I don’t want to defile such beauty with the mortality of my voice.
I do not want man’s analytical fingers combing the tresses of Love’s beached thoughts.
You’re hurting her,
Can’t you see?
How she cries,
Tears overrunning the banks of her eyes.
How her tortured breathing shakes her core.
How she withers in the corner,
While you starve her of freedom.
I can’t take it.
Pretending I can’t hear her blood-curdling screams,
That I can’t see her pleading eyes.
The way she looks out the window hopefully.
Praying for the day we unlatch her cage.
I can’t take it.
Today she seems especially cold.
Scornfully turning her head from me,
Rejecting my requests.
Refusing to lend herself to my cause.
I can’t blame her though.
I’ve let her down,
My poor Love,
I’ve disappointed her,
My dear Truth,
I let them enslave my Poetry.