The Zipper

I have a zipper cold, hard, iron, to hold it all in. It takes in the pain, the sorrow, joy, excitement, despair, and keeps it locked away. Away it stays, buried deep, hiding from a world of judgement, and prejudice. Of cold, hard, iron faces walking through crowded streets, heads bent. But sometimes, it slips. The iron grip I thought was there is not as strong as it once appeared. Everything bursts from the cell, rips the seams, breaks the lock, and pours into myself, for all to see. I am overtaken with a sea feeling and emotion. Do you want to close it up? I think. No. Let it stay open for just a moment. Let me feel alive for just a moment.