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
Sometimes, they catch me
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
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
© Niamh Corcoran 07.02.2012