I abhor confined spaces
But they say I reside in the mind
My physical address is the brain
A brain cell
Sounds like jail
Then I must be no ordinary prisoner
My jailer is the one who gets tortured if he keeps me in my cell
He needs to spit me out
I’m not made to be in jail
Got to be released
Got to be uttered
Got to be heard
I am the word
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem