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The doors inside my brain


A series of locked doors, each labeled through necessity.
Some faded from the years,
others printed tiny in stark lettering
and hidden at the base.

A couple with worn handles from frequent openings;
Others warped and battered from the other side
from things trying to escape.

You’re the door with the busted lock,
swinging to and fro in a non-existent breeze,
free to enter, free to leave,
no barrier, no bar to hold you in.

We’ve built this door together,
painted it with colourful, shared dreams,
reinforced it with future planning,
we put in silent hinges,
there is no thundering, squealing alarm when it opens.

I bought a new lock and key years ago.
You see it and understand,
you tell me do what I must.
If I shut the door, does a window indeed open?
Will we whisper through the door like hopeful kids
or anguished teenagers?

It’s fine to close this door, you’ll understand.
It’s fine to not see your face right now,
everyone needs a break sometimes.

But this door is different,
it’s slowly morphing into translucent glass.
Sometimes my hand passes through it,
like a waterfall cool and gentle.
And in my quiet moments, I wonder
Do I even need this door to protect me anymore?



Old keys won’t open new doors; that’s what I always say. Whether or not I listen, that’s another story lol.

I like the last part the most. Sometimes, I feel like I’m standing in the doorway but there is something holding me back from stepping thru. I hope this gives someone the courage to walk thru.

Very nice, @Sita thank you for sharing! :rose: :fire: :hrtlegolove:


This is a gorgeous poem straight from your soul. Thank you for sharing it :hrtlegolove: