Stuck         

Standing here looking outside my window,
Then it dawns on me that cells don’t have windows. 

I’m a prisoner of my own mind. 

Wait, no I’m not. 

Oh, my mind's playing tricks and I’m losing.

My windows are gray and don’t let in sunshine or air, not even a little peek or a slight draft. Whoever designed them has done well.

Yes, I can see the green grass and the lush gardens in my backyard. I can smell the morning mist and feel the sun on my face as it rises. 

I can, right? I can’t? What do you mean I can’t?  

Look out there, the flowers are blooming…

Wait, what happened to the flowers? Why are they suddenly gray, who painted them so? 

Oh, I see, someone closed the windows again, I rise to open it and it dawns on me again.

Cells don’t have windows.

I’m tired, so I don’t have windows? 

It’s late and I need some sleep, I undress and drop on my bed… oh such bliss, the comfort of having a plush bed. I toss and feel cold, why is the bed cold? I reach for my duvet, and I wake. 

Cells don’t hold beds.

The hard floor became harder as realization dawned; it is unrelenting as it hammers kinks into my frozen bones. My little insect friends come for their share of my body. 

I drift off and find myself back on my bed, yeah, I so knew I wasn't in a cell, I mean come on, it’s so soft and I can feel the tender breath of my lover against my nape. 

I turn to give her a good morning kiss but all I feel against my blistered lips is the cold cruel wall.

Once again, I am reminded.

Cells don’t hold beds.

I stand up, stretch the kinks outta my aching bones, why I have been sitting down for hours I don’t understand. 

I need to take a stroll. 

Yeah, some exercise will do me some good. I take my first step, but I am drawn back. 

What is it this time around? Huh? Chains on my feet? No.

Cells don’t free you.

Life is sweet but freedom is even sweeter, I knew I was no prisoner. 

The streets are alive and everyone I pass greets with warm smiles. So happy and free they are, so happy and free. I am. I am. Happy and free?? 

I’m no longer a prisoner of my words?

I don’t bow down to the wishes of my thoughts no more.

Nah I am still a prisoner. Stop messing with me, mind. It’s not funny.

I am a prisoner of words unsaid.

Thoughts unprocessed. Actions yet to be acted. A slave to myself.

I kick a stone into the gutter and prepare to cross it. Freedom is sweet I tell you.

Stretching my feet across the gutter, I am suddenly yanked back. Wait! What?

Oh shit!

Cells don’t free you.