My voice, not yours

for years, I have sat in the back of a closet, sewing a needle through my lips. for years, I have been shut down and tossed away into forgotten oubliettes of shame. for years, I have been defeated in your palm.

though I am given scissors, i do not touch them. i am afraid they will make my stitches tighter.

so much has happened. i am a doll being tossed around with a stitched smile at the mercy of whoever is carrying me. you clamp my palms and let my feet brush the ground, making me talk a speech I do not have. 

to you, I am a doll. nothing more than woven straw with scraps of fabric. you dress me up and make me do things I do not want to do. 

whenever I try to speak, you get cross with me. you grab the needle and thread. you weave the string through my bleeding lips and tears of desperation. you make the stitches so tight my lips crash into each other. 

making sure I am this lifeless thing you get to control. 

it hurts.

don't
i
have
a
voice
?

Instead of crossing my legs and nodding, forced to agree, can't I speak? Can't I...say? or am I to have my voice ripped from my throat. 

opinions can be blooming flowers or overgrown weeds, it just depends on who's viewing your garden. 

Could my voice be beatiful weeds? Could my voice sing like those on branches? Singing their unique tunes? 

Speaking 
My
Mind
?

Voicing
My
Expressions
?

could that be done?

I suppose it could. 

if my voice can be beatiful flowers in bloom,
If it can be a soft meldoic tune,
If it can be the most fragant perfume,
Then
Why
Can't
I
Speak

I should not be scolded into being quiet
I should not be compressed into a made-up fantasy,
I should not be under a thumb
I should not be controlled

In someone's garden I am in full bloom.
In someone's forest, I have the greatest tune
In someone's air, I am the sweetest perfume

I grab these scissors and slash the stitches open, releasing the black string. My mouth opens, my voice prepares itself. 

Though I do not have your favorite color on my petals, though I do not sing with your comapny, though I am not your personal aroma, I can still have a voice.

It is my life. 
It is my voice.
It is my choice.
Not yours. 

You do not have the power to control me
You do not have the role of a King and I a peasant
You do not get to put me in your darkness
You do not get to keep me in your palm
You do not get to lock me up
I 
Am
The
Only
One
In
Control

We may be different
We may not agree
But we can live in harmony

Do not shun me
Do not cast me out
Do not treat me like your paper doll

It 
Is
My
Voice
Not
Yours