Locked In

 

I.

Psst. 

Over here.

II.

Little help, please.

III.

I'm locked in.

My stupid fat fucking tears have locked me in.

The molasses molecules of my heavy thoughts have slowed their stream

Highly viscous and agonizingly vicious,

They've petrified into amber bars.

I seem to have locked myself in.

IV.

Psst.

V.

There's a lock on this cage. 

Old-fashioned, for your picking pleasure.

Put down your 

Blow torch, your

Dynamite, your

Drills, your

Other fancy equipment whose names I do not know

Just pick up that bobby pin on the dresser next to the fading receipt for soy milk and trash bags

VI.

Stick the bobby pin in the lock and twist till you feel it click

Be the hero and save me from this crystalized prison.

But before you swing the gate open, befriend the animal inside.

Reach your hand in and let me smell it. 

Let your fingers travel the length of my arm and make me purr.

Stick your head through and nuzzle into my collar bone.

Deeper.

Taste test the length of it.

Run your tongue up my neck like the first ice cream cone of summer and

Disarm the red dragons guarding this sleeping beauty.

As I quiver and wake,

As I stir

As the bars melt into waxen drips, and puddle on the lap of my dress,

Leave the door open a crack and 

Please, dear, disappear.

VII.

Because when I come back I will come back with a scream.

And I shall scream and scream and scream and scream and scream.

I've been locked in for entirely too long.

Photo by Caroline Näslund.  Words by Stephanie Chavara.