Cell

 

This place is no longer comforting.

I can look around and see the joy I once felt and hear the laughing,

But now, I only feel the disappointing stares and hear the words you say in anger.

What did I ever do to be so undeserving of your trust?

Home before midnight. No friends over past eleven.

No boys allowed in my room, which doesn’t even have a door that closes and locks.

Yet, I am not allowed to have the simple pleasures that every 22 year old deserves.

This bedroom, with all of my things, with all of my books and photos

Is the only sanctuary I have left.

Why does my home resemble a prison?