Her

Behind the vertical bars, through the narrow gaps, I see a glimpse of who I could be — should be. 

Eyes closed, the weight of my head rested against the rusted iron, I hear laughter. The kind erupting from within the depths of your soul, causing water to spray from both eyes like a sprinkler, and joyful aches from the bowels of the stomach.

Her radiating confidence shines through drawn eyelids, penetrating layers of skin, tissue, and muscle. The warm, embracing aura of love is close enough to singe the fringes of my tattered clothing. 

The epitome of happiness and freedom — waltzing to melodious music only she can hear and dancing in a ballroom only she can see. 

Despite the tight grip, a part of me wants to release and walk through the open door a few steps away — a beacon of hope. 

Yet, the burden of shame, like tar, forcefully restrains both feet and all ten toes — restricting movement and progression whilst extinguishing flickers of hopes, dreams, and aspirations. 

Inside these walls, enslaved by shame, a shell of a girl remains. Beyond these walls, everything she wants to be blossoms in the well-watered soil of freedom, producing fruits of confidence, boldness, and joy.