Every morning I lock myself in the closet.
I look myself in the eyes and sigh,
before I bind my hands and shove myself in.
I lock the door.
There are many locks. Bolts too.
Big ones, small ones
Old ones, new ones
I fasten them all before I leave.

I cry to myself as I sit in the dark,
my arms numb from my restraints.
Even as each day grinds past
and responsibilities come and go.
Sometimes when I get home at night
I will kick the door
to remind myself I'm still in there.
The locks rattle and strain.
I yell at myself to shut up.

I hate what's beyond that door.

I wish she'd stay quiet.
I wish he'd set me free.