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.