I toss my thoughts
into the depths of darkness
like pennies into a well.
I caress my dreams
in poetry and find freedom
in a jail cell.
Be free to write as if there
were no lines on the pages.
I gaze through the bars
like wild lions in cages.
What we do...
That defines who we are...
we do alone.
I need only
to close my eyes
to be home.
My sight is limited
to that in which I choose to see.
I find in the end
who I want to be...
Me.
Quiet contemplation. My Father leaves notes at the jail about losing our apartment. I find out from "friends" that I don't really have any. The Styrofoam kingdom is crumbling. The illusion fades. I am awake. So I begin to write everyday. Escaping.
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