Imaginary Prison

August 30, 2010
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The walls are paper thin, so easy to escape
The prison that I’m in, the four walls that enclose me.
It isn’t dark and dreary, a cell block full of sin.
The walls are pink, the light is bright, and the door is within reach.
I want, I wish, I pray for change, a change in my condition.
A sign from above, or even below, to push me into position.
The door is unlocked, it sometimes swings open, and the taste of freedom falls on my tongue.
Independence is only a dream, an impossible thing, never to be acquired.
To run out the door and never look back is all I’ve wanted, and all I will never have.
Give and take, share and receive, a balance of holding on and letting go.
The comfort of my prison, the easiness of familiarity, ties me to this place
Yet it doesn’t block my yearning to see the world through my own eyes.
The stories I hear just aren’t the same as the real thing, as the dreams that I want to come true.
The dreams of being on my own, without any guilt or regret,
Without looking over my shoulder for my past love.
Being all that someone has is not a blessing I wished for,
It is being held on to so tightly that I am an anchor at the bottom of the ocean,
Never able to swim to the top and float away on my own.
I have sunken a long time ago, the heaviness of dreams holding down my empty love,
Pushing away my lively spirit, and leaving a ghost in an imaginary prison.

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