Manuscript (redesigned)

Trying not to discard the manuscript,

while they shape it to fit their desires.

Holding on tight to the manuscript,

knowing it might not be mine anymore.

I die inside while they pretend that it's just 'politics'

when it invades my sacred womanhood.

I tried to give up the promiscuity,

but that won't ever be good enough,

as long as I'm me.

As a kid I thought the world was magical,

somewhere all your dreams could come true.

Now I know the world as it really is,

breaking the news over freshly poured coffee,

with a tinge of cinnamon in the air.

I think back to when I believed in the magic,

now it's all extinguished possibility.

Trying not to give in but I'm tired,

and I know they're lapping it up.

But somehow I'm still stuck.

And the years pass like a rewind in time,

and I can't do what I could when I was five,

and I'm looking at the world like its on fire.

And we're trying to do the right thing,

but how when we fight the right wing,

and their tired, swooping in with their stunts,

we're all liars,

but some of us can see the facade.

Trying not to discard the manuscript,

while they shape it to fit their desires.

Holding on tight to the manuscript,

knowing it might not be mine anymore.