What if Acceptance were an anagram of Freedom?

 What if Acceptance were an anagram of Freedom?

Would my door be open to let out

and to find where the blow has hurt?

I would be willing to sweep away the dust of the broken,

even if it was still floating in the air.

 

You know when you remember a version of yourself that you don't recognize to this day?

I've spent so much time accepting that you cut off my freedom that I struggle to release the acceptance inside me.

It doesn't make sense,

but practically nothing in the last year has.

Like dust in a closed room levitating.

 

Reminding me that I'm here, that I'm still alive, with values that I carry as a flag but that I must stitch together so that no one gets hurt.