How small a world becomes when locked away,

Be that lock constructed of our own fruition.

Sometimes life overwhelms.

Sometimes the pain is unbearable.

Sometimes we are misunderstood – no more so than by ourselves.

The locks come out.

A room.

A window.

A desk.

A bunny.

Rules for food.

Rules for clothes.

No mirrors.

No hooks.

No cables.

And the tears.

The unshed tears of decades of buried emotions.

The unshed tears of burned and discarded dreams.

The unshed tears of fear and failure.

The unshed tears of what now. Who am I?

Incarceration.

The foundation upon which to build a new me.

A new life.

A new way of being.

There is no time frame. There is simply time.

Acceptance cannot be forced. Only learned. Through patience.

Traverse the path of emotional turmoil for the reward of freedom.

Free to unlock the door for which I always held the key.

It’s a small, small world, and from here I will grow.