Still Growth

A stranger once described me as a locked house, and they wanted to kick down the door.

To deter intruders,

I had buttoned down everything that could be stolen, I bolted doors and proofed windows,

rationed food and sipped water.

I had refused to give out keys, because what if they found me naked?

How would I look anyone in the eye, knowing they had seen everything I hated?

But still,

they could see past the windows.

So, I constructed a complex suicidal sequence of

saying yes I’m listening

yes I can do it

yes I understand

yes I’m just tired

saying no to relief until enough pressure knocked me out

and that stranger could unbolt the back door

and peek inside

and find a child in a threadbare nightie

sitting on the couch

staring at the stale air, who cries when I reach out

but grips the stranger’s hand.

The stranger closes the door quietly.

Forevers pass and we eventually say goodbye.

Months fly by until time stops my heart

to remind me that they saw that child I keep hidden

and they still left.