Prisoner

no this isn't happening
prisoner of my own mind
fear is darkness.
thrown w/ the speed of a raging hurricane,
to nowhere & back, over & over.
no this isn't real
prisoner of my own time
fear is hell,
but contradiction is in all things.
freedom tattooed to my forehead
I march to every extreme -
to every little girls soul -
to every dead man's heart
to every mind ever to have thought
ever to have endured pain
ever to have loved,
but I march alone
& I do not do it standing.
I am on my knees
& I reach in years what it takes most to reach in seconds -
no this isn't at all
prisoner of my own freedom.
fear is fleeting.
I am but a child's toy at it's mercy
but tonight I am held in it's arms.
tomorrow, I could be forgotten.
this is the fear of us all
prisoner of my own indecision
my own insecurity, my stumbling fate
my stained purity, my humbling emotions
my fain decadence.
the child is I
(the child is I)
I must learn to put my toys away.
I must learn to care for them as they would've learned
to care for me.
I must learn. I must learn.
not for the sake of knowledge
but for simple need - simple need
these are the bars to my cage.
yes this is happening
& I am but a prisoner of this happening.
though I do not understand it
nor do I think I ever will.
I accept it as life & as life
I accept it w/ one eye open
one eye closed -
one hand raised above my head reaching, wanting
one hand tied behind my back
& another hand,
whom I've yet to meet.