i see the door knob gleaming brightly
my hand itches to turn it
to open the door and walk out
rather than locked and closed
but then i’m enchanted by the pen
stroking stories into being
crafting lines of symmetry
filling in the holes where
those missing pieces lie
once the story is complete
the microphone catches my eye
so i sing and sing and sing
until my voice grows hoarse
and lungs feel light again
i’ll even write the songs i sing
i’ll compose music within me
and outward on a keyboard
hoping and hoping they’ll be heard
will anyone even listen
then i’ll look back at the door
the knob polished yet untouched
begging to be turned and opened
from its sorely locked state
to let me see outside what i love
i have everything i love right here
so why would i venture out
not able to find that one thing
that i ever seem to be missing
that elusive, pleasureful and painful thing
the thing that locked me in here
from the very beginning