The Prison

Cloudy skies

Viewed behind cold glass.

Chilly breeze

Mockingly taunts exposed skin.

Sounds

Of children’s laughter,

Jump

Nimbly through the open windows.

Unlocked doors

Beckoning

Calling for me to leave.

 

But I can’t.

I am confined.

Trapped between these walls.

Shrouded

In barriers of my own making.

Shackled

To the ghosts of isolation,

Attached

To the foreigness of an outsider,

The loneliness of a foreigner.

Billowing curtains mock me.

Familiar bed comforts me not.

 

This

Is not where I want to be.

This

Is where I am forced to be.

Forced

By my fears.

Bound

By my inhibitions.

Entombed in my disinterest.

 

T ‘is funny,

How the wind blows-

Pushing

Through the mesh of my windows.

Dancing

Past the bars of these windows.

Free.

Free?

From the baggage.

But

Is the wind really freer?

Than me?

Can a being,

Untouched

By life

Be free?

A being

With neither choice

Nor will

A being

Constantly in motion

With no anchor

To call its own.

 

I think not.

 

I’d rather

My prison.

With its gilded mirrors of pain.

I’d rather

The shackles

Of my mind;

The encumberance

Of unwieldy emotions

I’d rather

My desire

For isolation.

 

I’d rather

These pages 

For my thoughts

Than

The wisps that feel plenty,

Yet naught.

 

 

I’d rather

Stay entrapped,

Secluded-

In the prison of my choice.

 

Kadeen Nichelle Oksana Waldron

Friday, May 11, 2012 18:38 hrs

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