I am a collection.
I keep myself in cabinets.
A heart locked away;
A mind contained (constrained) by itself.
I smother on my own exhalation.

I am a collection.
I keep my own key; I locked my own door.
I put myself on display.
Visible, but untouchable.
Terrified to be exposed as a whole.

I am a collection.
I gather dust.
Stale ideas; suffocated eyes.
Isolated, so as not to see, to feel.
Please, don't ask me to live outside of these four walls.

I am a collection.
I will fall apart. Fade away.
Unfinished; incomplete.
A voice, locked away, by its own insecurities.

(May 25, 2010)