I am my own prisoner. I am the prisoner of my own mind. I’ve got the bars, the stone walls four in a half feet wide by six in length. With no doors and only one window. A window that looks out upon the things that have happened. All of those horrible things. I have a bed just big enough to lay on and chair that faces that window of mine. And no matter how I try I cant move from the chair I just stair helplessly out that window.
On the outside I fight for control of what little I have. I feel like that poor little bird in that cage over there. Fighting for my right to live. To breath.
My parents know how I struggle with my own demons. The try to help. They don’t realize they give me so much sympathy but they don’t seem to notice that I’m like that bird either. The more attention they give the closer the walls get. The less of a chance I have to get away from that window.
So I run and hide and hope that they here my silent plea. As I say….
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