Some of us are locked up
behind bars,
waiting for that next fix
of freedom;
just enough rope,
seeking the path
going anywhere
but here.

Some of us are locked up
in airports,
lines long and snow high;
somber, shoeless crowds
hoping for a pleasant holiday,
but heading anywhere
but there.

Some of us are locked up
in our pain,
scared and wounded,
our controllers controlling
access to every narrow path
leading anywhere,
even here.

But while we're locked up,
the system still fails,
the snow still falls,
the wounds still hurt,
battle lines are still drawn
everywhere, and change
can still be made.