By Emilee Petersmark

She wants to break loose--

Shater the glass tomb built around her--

Scream barbarically

Like everyone told her not to,

Instead of enduring the weight of the world

In silent discontent.

And when she explodes she'll

Break the windows and melt the floor--

Her fingers are itching

To smash the expensive finary

That she was never allowed to touch.

The walls will crumble and

Her passive tears will become

Shrieking Sirens,

Wailing in the emptiness of her surrender;

No longer will she cry

Alone in the dark.

She wants to be LOUD in her self-pity;

All fingers will finally turn

To where the fault really lies

Instead of on her own sallow face.

She'll rip the pictures from the wall,

And the lace from her closet,

And the memories from her head,

Throwing them on her pristine bedroom floor

Before grinding them to dust under her heel.

Then she'll rip open her chest

And write over the mess in bold red:

I WILL NOT BE STIFLED!

I WILL NOT BE SUBDUED!

She'd laugh out loud and fearlessly--

She just wants to break loose--

But all she can do is

Sit in the corner while her mother speaks,

Smiling demurely

While she quietly loses her mind.