By Mika Lynch-Lee
Edited by Alloe Mak

I’d ride my bike up north for half an hour
And I’d see horses and fields and I’d be free.
A train car speeding past,
Years of moss on handmade fences,
Fog resting low in the mountains,
Silver Springs on tangled earbuds.
And my sentience would return to me.
Possessed by a freedom
like screaming—
A freedom that makes my breath heavy

I see visions of running…
Galloping over fields spotlighted by sunlight,
Flying through air carrying the song of cowbells,
Melting into the suede train seat
Freedom is a hallucinogen—
Like capturing a song

It was the most unfamiliar feeling,
Our connection.
Like we might just get each other eventually.
If the universe gives us enough time.
The way your music speaks my mind
Your words sing, serenade my spirit
Spinning in Switzerland
Crying in Berlin
Independent, but not free
Your songs playing all the while in the background,
Scoring my emotions,
Until my scars heal and my wings grow
Ripping through the surface of my back,
A body full of slashes of transparent skin

Bloodied white wings—
I look like a medieval painting
Halloween costume but no party.
Teeth but no smile.
Wings but no sky.
Why won’t freedom let me live?

And there’s still a band but I don’t play,
Unless it’s in my room with my music propped on the windowsill
Vibrations crawling from my hands to the floorboards
Hardwood jazz.
Jazz to charge the house.
Open a window and it’s a performance for the icy November wind.

And I play a little louder than quiet,
Asking the universe desperately to give me something to be passionate about,
For something to start and not stop,
For a sky that summons me to fly.
Freedom is a hallucination—
Like a dream where you run in slow motion
Like your head after a strong highball

The fog returns.
You can run but it might be headfirst into something
Thick, nearly viscous,
The swamp of freedom, the mist of awe.
Why does freedom feel restraining?
Maybe that screaming and those heavy breaths were not the excitement of freedom but the illusion of it
Halloween costume and the trick of freedom.
Teeth but they won’t see another face.
White wings but they’re bloody.
Music but it turns to cacophony.
The whole and beautiful become spoiled,
and surrender…
When they don’t know how to handle freedom