I can speak-
out loud-
without need.
I should feel free,
like bird off land and fish in sea,
and yet I find myself without want to speak.

I can stay right between these walls.
Forever. Really.
I have never feared what’s held in here.
Those noises stay just in those halls.
No eyes can scan past my plane so tall,
No hands can chase to squeeze me raw.

I am safe.
And not safe like sound
but safe like bound,
and bound like glued to the floor,
like nobody could ever again pull me past that door.

I don’t care to fall back for a lover,
can’t truly seek within them a secure cover.
Men can grow fickle after phallus introduced,
and I desire a shelter tight, not loose.

So, door is door and lock is lock,
and my body stays as unmoved as rock.
Yes, flesh remains unloved,
but here to love means simply to corrupt.

And if I grow past my ceiling?
If I really grasp further than my reaching?
Easy.
I’ll simply stoop until I’m again smaller,
and starve myself so I get no taller.

This is the life I have to claim,
a day-by-day that goes all the same.
It’s not bad this way- there’s none of that weeping.
It’s peace and quiet, if I just ignore my soul’s
screeching.

By Zoe Rose

Website: https://www.youtube.com/thewholeofhell