Python

 Soon, I tell the forces firing within,
struggling for the day when they, too,
will flow forth upon the world,
sensing and sating and crying out their breath.

I sit and wonder at the key locked within,
thought to have been hidden by memories
of lost time and poor lessons, 
a time before I became unhappy,
dissatisfied, disgruntled, disenchanted.

The music these days sings to me in a soft hymn,
a rhythm of the balance which must burst forth,
like Lady Justice peeking through the fold,
warning me of what I already know.

How long before I accepted what I knew to be true,
throwing away false promises given to false prophets,
those that would try to capture my future,
when the future is mine to give alone.

There is fire in their anger,
yet I no longer fear to burn.
They are not cattle, nor am I some 
lost and humble herdsman,
trying to manage a flock of soldiers,
who fight because they need to belong.

Denying, denying all this time the truth.
Finding excuses, finding faults,
displaying my happiness to all mirrors but mine own,
not wanting to see, not wanting to believe,
that, finally, I deserve what I've sought.

And seek it, damn. 
Well, I found it.

I've been through floods of liquid that made my body so sick,
yet my friends, my true friends, they stood by and knew the truth,
they stood by and told her, warned her,
and she passed the test. 

And pass it, damn.
Well, I aced it.

I've tasted the cold lash of manipulation,
and I've strangled that python, 
unhinged its jaw and forced the truth back down it.
Choke on that, you bastard.

Happiness is not a key. 
It's an opened door.
I may not be satisfied,
I may not be still,
I may still race ahead,
I may still change the course,
but I will be happy,
I can taste that scent.