In my wardrobe,

There is no clothes

Don’t you see?

There are no clothes,

Only me.

Shy and akward.

A poet with a secret.

Lean in so I can tell you

Why i replaced,

the clothes in my wardrobe.

You see I fear this wardrobe,

Is painfully evident .

Scared everyone knows my secret,

Or I am terribly bad at hiding it.

The contents of my wardrobe,

Are fears doubts and desires.

Empty hangers,

laced with dread.

Shelves filled with uncertainty.

The mirror hanging on the door

Shows someone,

Who i wasnt before.

Did i spend too much time in the wardrobe?

Has it warped my personality?

The wardrobe seems to feel safe,

Though it gives a false sense of security.

With the ever lurking dread,

The pressure,

And the voices in my head.

I may live in this wardrobe forever,

But it gets quite lonely.

No one knows I live here,

Hopefully It changes soon.

If i tell them where i live,

Do you think they will help me move?

Do you think one day,

clothes can fill my wardrobe,

Instead of my anxious soul?