I am far away inside.
Tucked away far away
down corridors,
with closed and open doors.
Safe.
Home.

And when I am alone,
I can explore,
I can open up the doors,
careful with the things I love
and the things I don't.
I can let things out, or not.
Put everything back in place or
talk about them, messy.
Safe.
Myself.
Normal.

But when I am not alone.
When I am not alone,
I am so alone.
Doors slam,
good and bad.
Corridors stretch and bend.
I am in the middle.
Far from myself.
Alone.
I don't know where or what
or how to move or
talk or
think.
I am lost.

And all I want is to come alive again,
be normal,
at home,
laugh easy,
find words
that will mean something.
But all the doors are locked.