I am not a slave.

The weight of chains hold me down.

The shackles make my hands hard to use.

My thoughts not even my own.

My eyes are told where too look, and what beauty is.

Yet I pretend the chains are not there so I can be free.

Yet I pretend the shackles are not there so I can say my works are good.

Yet I pretend my thoughts are my own, but how I am different from anyone else.

Yet I pretend my eyes are my own, but when did I find beauty beyond my own desire.

I am not a slave.

Because I pretend.