The Worm

A worm
Lives in my throat
Gnaws at the core
The rotten apple
Force-fed every day
Eggs pregnant with doubt
Wants me to shout
Whenever they say
‘Hold your tongue’
‘Speak not your mind’
It itches me into speech
Piercing and clear
Muffled in vain
Unstoppable ebb and flow
Wriggle turns to whisper
Moving through my head
Rendering me deaf
To the screeching voices
Merely asking ‘Why?’
It nests deep inside
But it does not abide
‘Rules don’t apply to worms’
Thrives on change
Urges me to move
Asks ‘Are you sure?’

© 2017 Erna G.

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