I sit in a prison of my own making,

the bars are not of iron or steel

but emotions firmly locked in

some well hidden box.

They tussle and fight to be seen,

to break free and make themselves

heard.

Sometimes, they catch me

totally unawares

slipping out at inconvenient times,

I fight back the urge to cry

and angrily wipe the tears away.

I stifle them and attempt to rein them

in.

To stuff them back into the box

from which they have escaped,

to keep them under lock and key,

for their intensity frightens me.

Feeling are not allowed in my world,

to show them, express them is

weakness

© Niamh Corcoran 07.02.2012

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