I take
another short breath,
preparing for my death
sentence.

My fingers grasp the door,
anxious, cold,
and black.

Through the
glass window I see
eyes that match

They know
I don't belong
here. I'm as irregular as my
heartbeat.

I try to ignore the
obstacles these eyes provide me
and take one last deep breath; preparing myself for what's ahead. I hold it in.

I tried
and tried
but I
remained
still for
some reason.

Do I
not want
to fight
for my
own rights?

Sigh. In the end I couldn't do it. I backed away from the privileged area; some smiled at my self-defeat.

My hand had stopped shaking
and my heart stopped aching.
Maybe I was wrong
I'm neither free nor strong.