Birthday Blue

I cling to sleep through night, through day;
the sanctions grow stricter when I wake.

I walk tenderly, bitter I let him capture me,
handcuff my words with fabric trees.

Oh, how I long for him who lets me
weave theories and dream!

If magic existed, I would drink strength
from it as if it were a fountain.

Copyright Xiomara A. Maldonado 2009