Doors.

That’s a funny word.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

A challenge.

Because when it says pull, it’s not an instruction, you push. Stick it to the man. Don’t allow conformity to be the death of us.

An opponent.

Because you well know you don’t let it hit you on the way out. Show it who’s boss. And hopefully, that’s you. If not, I can’t help you much there.

A mysterious curiosity

Because all the ones we seem to want to go through are locked or a restricted area. Like why can’t we go back there? What are they hiding??

A barricade

Because you know we’ve all just stood there waiting for the pesky salesman people to go away. I seriously don’t want solar panels. Really. I don’t.

A word

Only used twice in this poem because Doors, have two options, two directions.

Open the fridge to get a snack.

Leave your bedroom and get caught in a long, strange, awkward conversation with your mom’s friend.

Walk through to a different dimension.

Board up the portal to the world of Mike Wazowski, and all your favorite sweaters.

Or I suppose there is a third option. You could burn it all to the ground.

Heh. Arson.

And take away all your choices.

Some people feel safe that way. When it’s decided for them _even if _that decision isn’t what’s best for them.

But not you.

You seemed like someone who would face

The challenge

The opponent

The mysterious curiosity

The barricade

The precarious chance of your mom’s friend grilling you about your love life.

Don’t prove me wrong; Make that choice.

Or at least,

invite me to the burning party.