Locked Houses

I never had a key for a locked house,
until I learned to change door knobs myself.
There were broken handles, bent hinges, and holes,
but bungee cords secured insides at night–
unless sneaking hands wouldn’t cease.
Twenty years later, I still fear the dark,
I cannot sleep with doors unlocked,
I run away from the lights I turn off,
a creak in the hall wakes me,
as late-night knocks on windows still break me.



I have been hiding from writing–
Despite all my longing
To hold pen against paper again
For I cannot escape her,
With no room to breathe,
Weighed down by the sea of her tears–
Hot and salt-crusted;
From years of disillusioned stumbling.
My foundation has crumbled away
As my words have fallen flat
And I am struck motionless–
Fear in headlights approaching too quickly.
She has found me
I cannot escape.