Freedom was a virtue unknown,
Until your vice crossed my path.
That carefree feeling taken for granted,
Vanished when you revealed your wrath.

The bracelet you picked out,
One I’ve proudly shown,
“Only the finest silver”,
The prettiest handcuff I’ve known.

The gemstone on my throat,
A finely fitted necklace,
Almost as perfectly as your fingers,
When they’re often interlaced.

Twenty-four carats and rose gold,
Drawing (and breaking) hearts as it glistens,
If freedom is a virtue now known,
I must be in the world’s richest prison.

Esther Kuok May Yan, Kuala Lumpur