Though throttled by the vile hands of fear, I will emerge undaunted.
I may be cooped up in a cage of despondency,
But my soul resides in the pleasant hands of emancipation.
I might be labelled a slave,
But my spirit has not plummeted from the high seat
my soul has long reclaimed the crown.
You might have given me a claok of low class,
But my soul wears a gown of royalty.
I see light beyond the obscured walls of trepidation,
Covered with the fog of distress. I might be physically
Imprisoned, but the wings of my spirit soar beyond
The cells of this cage.
Though throttled, I still breath
Though cuffed, I am very much liberated.