It’s difficult to write, in the cage I would fight
who put me in
but if you listen to fear
the stranglehold it has
makes me realise that I have been here my whole life.
This body is a cage
the war I rage is to reach out.
My mind clinging to doubt
bones that never form bridges
bones that are ridges
forming my atlas.
See my body is a world in which I live
a cage where I position my heart
formed like the many prismed prisons
for my soul
I need my world to collide
and yet the chains that tie me,
that hold me down
make no sound
they exist in the space between
betwixt you and me.
In my eyes you see a window
to my soul
eyes that glow
eyes though that hardly ever stare into yours
see there are no doors in my cage
like a level in the hardest computer game stage
you can never really find me in that level
unless I purposely reach out.
In my doubt my fear is I will never be found
never really know the softness the warmth of touch
of taste of someone’s sweet lips
and yet that is what I grasp for
but the cage has no door
other than subtle hands
the best laid plans of men
which go on your shoulder
yet the cage is easier
it holds me inside
and I cannot collide
or make meaningful chatter
with the ones I would grasp
or make relationships that would last
the cage is where I dwell
my unmeaning-full hell.
This poem was written about my struggle to find love and intimacy as a sufferer with genuinely poor mental health at times. It may also show autistic traits as people with mental ill health and people with Asperger’s both struggle to understand body language and develop intimate relationships.
By Daniel Hooks
AKA Alienpoet on Facebook