Learn more about other poetry terms

What good are the "spacious skies," what good are the "amber waves," what good is the "purple mountain majesty" when we cannot enjoy them, when we are impounded, confined in the Prison of Capital?
I am finished. This has gone on for far too long. Trying to fit into your box of expectations had been my only goal since childhood. I see now that your expectations are not me. I won't let you define my life.
Subscribe to insurrection