Coffee shop, writing community, anywhere...you're gagged by the complacency.
I wish I could sing; I can,
but the coffee shop patrons
can't roll up their windows in here.
I want to release this trill,
the locked and hardened harmony,
spill notes from behind
the Frappachino paper cup.
Gagged by the invisible glove
of societal oppression, I don't know
where the lyric should begin.
Building, swelling fears restrict
hearts in these cage-like chests,
clutching overpriced caffienated wonder,
careful not to spill a drop,
lest we force someone to bring a mop.
They don't want to clean up after me.
I wish I could sing, and I can,
but this coffee shop needs quiet,
so we can all forget we're wasting time here.