Prison

I long to escape the prison of my mind. The shackles that have rendered me fearful to try. The iron forge of past wordsmiths striking hard where the mettle of a young heart was softest/ and then pouring the cool water of a most assured tongue to harden their carefully delivered blow.

I gladly took over their work, pounding and folding in repetitive thought faster than the most skilled artisan, fashioning a blade that I would never use on anyone but myself, deserving each cut in the same place for having picked a fight in the first place.

I long to escape the prison of my mind. So many wrongs I can't undo in this immutable time, too many fights left to pick. This mettle I've been given is drawn to conflict. It sees faults without knowing the reasons why. A most malleable mettle, it only knows that it is there, and it is these fallacies that are open to the harshness of interpretation, a crucible supported by the anvil of another's will and their experience.

I long to escape the prison of my mind. The challenge my mind presents is a challenge none the less. Its expansion would be boundless without such impurities as uncertainty and intent.

I long to escape the prison of my mind. Rid myself of taint, believing half truths as if they were whole. The blows I've been dealt render belief unstable, like the trusting support of an old reliable wood giving away with time.

I long to escape the prison of my mind. Enjoy the vividness of a world without shadow just once, just to see, just to know. I would promise to return their shade where they were needed, to enhance image. This distortion/ like the hinges of a door. Must exit. May I leave.

I long to escape the prison of my mind. I am free. I must wear the scars. A reminder of time served.