The Freedom of Doves

I am too well acquainted with asking permission,

for if breathing weren't mandatory I would stutter

before every inhale,

holding still until granted

human decency.

My heart vibrates to the bassline,

the dirty, pungent undertones

of acceptance,

but it shall never be enough,

I am immovable.

Freedom comes once in a blue moon,

a fleeting thought, quickly silenced,

a squandered opportunity,

my phantom hands reaching,

unable to grasp anything of substance.

I shall lay here for an eternity,

and perhaps in the ever after,

I will gain the strength to fly away,

a solemn dove amongst the clouds,

at peace at last.