Poetry: Claustrophobia

Standard

The feeling is one of pure nakedness

Suspended in billows of soft cotton,

Pressure rising from all the poor choices

I made that nestled me into this trap.

To speak is unthinkable, to accept

The hand you offer me impossible,

For every vibration in my soul

Translates simple gestures into danger.

Right now I ache for open roads, clear skies,

Freedom from the chains of all past choices,

A future where I owe no one nothing,

Where I can love your rich, simple essence,

Where closeness will not be the enemy,

But the warm fire I have sought all my life.