Unprejudiced

It's not a closed mind,
But it's like I'm walking, blind.
It happens from time to time,
Where not even a shadow appears.

Things piled over each other,
A brimming space, my vision blurred.
Bars on the outside,
But a haven to my emotions.

How is it that blood drips here,
And yet I'm nine in the sky.
Outside at least.
A cork finally escaping into the stars.
Bottoms up, right?

Poetry expands my earth.
Poetry pours out just enough.
It designates my emotions.
It's the bandaid to my wounds.

We aren't close.
For me, always open.
Years ago and years to come,
To myself will not succumb.

Instead I'll turn to it.
To the one that expands without limit,
The one that pours with great caution,
To the designator and medic.
To Poetry.

This poem is about: 
Me

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