Self-inflicted
I sit like Rapunzel,
locked in my tower.
No one sees my pain.
I’ve cut my own hair;
neither witch nor prince
is to blame.
Alone, I look out on the world—
a window with no glass
frames my form.
I can’t climb down.
Why would I want to?
At the base, lie the thorns.
No desire to jump—
no wish to die—
Yet I look out over the land
with my short, ugly hair,
and I long to be…
free.
© Annie Neugebauer
2008, All rights reserved.
