My mind is like a room.

Sometimes it feels like a prison,

Sometimes like a home.

And sometimes just another room,

Another place to be.

There’s a doorway in that room.

Sometimes the door is locked,

Sometimes it creaks open.

And sometimes I see it’s closed,

But know that I could flee.

Next to the door is a window.

Sometimes I look out of it,

Sometimes I don’t bother.

And sometimes I stare for hours,

At what is oh so free.

I don’t like this room anymore.

Now I’m standing at the door,

My hand is on the handle.

I take a deap breath as I turn the knob.

“Hello world, introducing:”

“Me.”