The Room

Sitting within a room that’s full, 
Of chaos, lies and the constant pull; 
Of a juggler sweating to keep afloat, 
The untrue life that he had wrote. 

To lament a story that knew no love, 
Cried out from within like a wounded dove; 
Understanding little of the time he spent, 
In a room for sale but not for rent. 

No window to gaze from with wonder or joy, 
No happiness or peace for a lost little boy; 
Will juggling come stopping eventually? 
And weariness come abating - finally? 

A doorway appears on the farthest wall, 
To leave this room now grown too small; 
A portal to dreadful and undying remiss? 
Or the birth of womanhood and life’s newness. 

A brand new room he does now enter, 
Stand in the clean of its vacant center; 
Pristine and empty with virgin pallor, 
To walk its floor in peaceful valor. 

The chance to live as he once would dream, 
The woman inside him that had to scream; 
Be her that come knocking upon the door, 
To shed her falsehood she had known before. 

Nothing to fear, to worry or doubt, 
The woman inside is finally out; 
The freedom once lacking now forever to be, 
The woman that was always inside of me.