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* 15-18 Locked away in my symbolic room strapped to the bars of this comfortable prison I’ve known all my life. Confined to do what people expect of me, /confined/ to the role I am placed in on this chessboard. Locked away by the lump in my throat only wishing to speak but the air becomes still as the eyes stare, stare to me for I am different? Or stare to me because I am brave. Eyes that should be a doorway open and welcoming a door that is shut instead. Doors that keep the social “standard” to its quo, why, father, why are these eyes of winter so compelling to the soul? Mother, why is it when they glance with their winter eyes my feet freeze in place? No answer as I have neither to go to when I am sad nor to call for my achievements; it is only me.
