Back in

I lost myself within myself.

Stuffed that amazing 22-year-old

with the world at her feet

into a prison of my own design.

Closed off all the exits.

Stuffed my eyes with books and tv,

shoved smoke in my mouth

and noise in my ears.

Maybe if she can’t sense what

I’m doing,

she will just learn to love

her prison.

I keep throwing new things

down to her, to keep her occupied.

Past the throat that only closes

goes sadness and guilt

and a lock of self-worth

all rolled up into a

black hairball of despair

for her to play with;

dwell on.

Make it so big she can’t get past it.

Swallow more anger

swallow more disappointment

swallow it all down

to weigh upon her chest.

I’m running out of room

to hold it all in.

She’s finding ways to get around me.

She’s leaking out of my pen.

Tells me to force a hook

down into that one-way throat.

She wants to grab the other

end so she can tell me to pull.

Rip out the darkness, the sadness,

the guilt and the anger,

tear out the throat

so a voice can fit out.

Spread my arms out to the heavens,

raise my mouth up in a scream.

It’s going to hurt

worse than anything

to pry open my eyes

and clear out my ears.

But I can’t stay this way

any longer.

She wants to get out.

She deserves to get out.

And once that space is empty,

there won’t be any problems

for the light to find it’s way

back in.


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