A Prisoner of My Own Making
By: Tyner Twine
I’m but a prisoner of my own making,
In an ornate cage never-ending.
I’m a flower that is slowly withering,
A faulted soul in need of mending
In the confines of my mind,
I see another me,
A version much much different,
Than what others perceive to be.
I don a gilded mask in the light of day,
Pretend there is no need for pretending.
Behind the closed doors in a room of blue and gray
I’m trapped in a cycle of beginnings without endings.
The dawn feels like a burden on my shoulders,
The hopeful light of day makes it hard to breathe.
And every day I carry this metaphorical boulder,
Wishing for the solace of six feet underneath.
I am a residual haunting all on my own,
An apparition that continues to breathe.
Crushed by daily self-deceptions I’ve said and sown
With all my imperfections yet exposed and unsheathed.
My calls for help were brushed as a joke and lie,
My tears branded as art for theatrics.
Eventually, a light in my soul has started to die,
Snuffed by the words of the gullible and the critics.
So, for tonight I’ll bid you all adieu,
As I rest and close my jail cell for another day,
My mind’s a frightening monster that’s hard to subdue,
And it has once again come to spirit me away.
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