Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
kscruggsPoems
Darkness, I am confined again, lost in between the tight spaces of my own old pretensions, rules, laws. I have no pretenses. I know that it was I who cast this wrought iron, I who twisted the cruel key, I who signed my fate. It is safer here in this tiny steel world I have created for myself. There is no you, there is only me, a twisted version, skewed out of love, out of reality, distorted through fear, perverted by hate, self-directed, self-received. Now I only have to worry about myself, my reactions. And yet I am still seeking your approval, hoping you will see me, weak and chained, hoping you will say, "Good girl! What self-control! Look at how she tortures herself! Look at how she gives herself what she deserves!" My burning hands encircle cold, icy metal. I am afraid the difference will make them sear. My eyes look out, trying to see the jury, trying to see the judge, but they are all within the cell, alone with me. I yearn for freedom, but it is hard to hope after becoming so accustomed to the chains. The taste of spring air  grows stale in my mouth. The light fades slowly. Someday I will save me from my prison, from myself.
0
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
Steel World
Darkness, I am confined again, lost in between the tight spaces of my own old pretensions, rules, laws. I have no pretenses. I know that it was I who cast this wrought iron, I who twisted the cruel key, I who signed my fate. It is safer here in this tiny steel world I have created for myself. There is no you, there is only me, a twisted version, skewed out of love, out of reality, distorted through fear, perverted by hate, self-directed, self-received. Now I only have to worry about myself, my reactions. And yet I am still seeking your approval, hoping you will see me, weak and chained, hoping you will say, "Good girl! What self-control! Look at how she tortures herself! Look at how she gives herself what she deserves!" My burning hands encircle cold, icy metal. I am afraid the difference will make them sear. My eyes look out, trying to see the jury, trying to see the judge, but they are all within the cell, alone with me. I yearn for freedom, but it is hard to hope after becoming so accustomed to the chains. The taste of spring air  grows stale in my mouth. The light fades slowly. Someday I will save me from my prison, from myself.
Written by
kscruggs
American
Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 9:17 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem