The Voluntary Prison

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Earlier I was trapped. But now, I chose it, I chose The Voluntary Prison, it became an integral part of me. I can’t leave it and I can’t stay inside it. It’s in my chest, it’s in my head. It’s tying my tongue, and my voice. I can’t spell it out, it’s all imprisoned inside. I’m saying no to myself, and I can’t speak with others. They hear me, but they can’t really listen. I’m losing the connection with them and with myself. Life is becoming a cliché, we think that we’re living, but we’re actually dying, dying every day by killing a part of ourselves, thinking that this gives us life, but it’s taking life away. When I cry it feels like a window is open, and some air gets inside, I can breathe a bit. So, I cried, I cried a lot. But the door was closed again, keeping me inside without air and without life. A part of me is dying, and it’s very painful!

Mena M. Eissa