Deprivation

Because it was I felt growing up,

I wonder if I really grew.

Locked in a cocoon — all but dark and gloomy,

Solitary confined, choice I had two:

Wait and I’ll be perfectly fine, though poker face can do sometimes.

Rush and I’ll die, as though waiting promises mellow chime!

To meet the end (I’m not yet prepared)

So I chose the first (weary and scared)

The place was black (pitch black to be exact) —

More than born blind; more than unborn dead.

Foundation seeks time to rest, hope to endure.

Of that thought, I filled the store.

Crawl to hear the cry with the last strain of courage,

All I want is to shout — the consuming myriad outrage

Of longing, of wanting, of dreaming

Sufficiently enough to tear the cover

Holding me back for seems a lifetime —

Secure with identity bound by serenity.