The Key

In my mind is a room with a lock door,

A door is holds memory, feeling and much more.

I lock these things away so long ago,

That there are things inside that I don’t even know.

But in class I learned to create a key,

A key made by poetry.

For years and year I have forged this piece,

I have hammered each fold and smoothed every crease.

And now I have the key to secrets behind this door,

But what for?

Did I not lock these things away for some reason?

Would this not be self-treason?

For year I pondered these thoughts,

About opening this door that’s been locked.

I have come to the conclusion,

That I should open the door and stop my seclusion.

Now that I have opened this door I am happy as can be,

Now I am free to be me.