Mother, Mother, Don’t Lock Me Out


Mother, mother

Don’t lock me out,

Please throw away

your lock and key.

Let me step into your dressing room

and marvel in its mystery.

Let me rummage through your closet

until I find the part of you

that was stolen in the night by demons.

Don’t leave me standing on the porch

Begging to come in and sleep.

If you let me in, I promise not to haunt you.

Why did you lock me out so often?

What was it that you feared?

Was it me you feared,

or that part of yourself

you could not understand?

Should I resent you or thank you

For the time we could have spent together

But instead, spent apart?

By Amy Jones

For my A Day in the Life Series.

This poem was inspired by a recurring dream I have where I am back in the house in which I grew up. Last night I dreamed about my mom’s bedroom, which she always kept locked. Whenever I discovered it was unlocked, I would sneak in and look through all of her drawers and closets, trying on her clothes, make-up, jewelry, and perfumes. Occasionally I would smuggle a tube of lipstick or eyeshadow out in my pocket, but she always seemed to figure it out, only adding to the reasons she kept it locked.

With my own daughters, I have had a completely different approach, allowing them free access to anything in my closet or otherwise. They try to be careful about casually admiring something of mine, because I am likely to give it to them on the spot, even if I am wearing it. I guess that’s called over compensation.

Click here to see the previous post in my A Day in the Life Series.

12 thoughts on “Mother, Mother, Don’t Lock Me Out

  1. My mother locked me out in her later years
    To this day I will never forget the phone conversation
    Don’t call me anymore
    Don’t ask for anything
    It’s something that will haunt me for the rest of my life
    My mother was………

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Isn’t it funny how opposite we sometimes choose to go which bothered us as a child. My mom would let me look too but only one glossy colorless lipstick i was allowed to put on. And now my child even want a blush brush to touch her cheeks. Good story and very nice poem

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Lovely poem, Amy, and a very typical reaction when it comes to the open door policy with your children. My mom had a locked cedar closet/wardrobe where she kept all her secrets. (as well as her stash of Oreo cookies…she didn’t drive, and would hide them so we wouldn’t devour them on grocery shopping day). All my doors were open. My kids were respectful. 💕

    Liked by 1 person

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