The Pyle Inside

An Ode to the people locked behind the bedroom doors

who get their interaction from a screen

and their exercise from a floor.

Who read and write and live in their own chosen world,

Who know they should go outside,

but know how reality hurts.

They wish they had thick skin

And eyes with a magical glint

They wish they could laugh, cry, love

and be brave enough to take some hits.

They dream of an adventure,

To be a wizard’s favorite apprentice,

To have the wisdom of an old centaur,

To win the crown of a powerful princess.

They may not know what to say or when, but their imagination knows no limits

And they may live with their head in the clouds, though that’s nobody’s business.

They make marks on the page,

Clean lines cut the deepest.

And from in front of that door,

Nobody would believe it,

But you can make a solemn wish

That they didn’t have to escape,

And alas, they’d still be their own captive,

They can’t help but disassociate.

You could say their condition’s bad luck,

Maybe a sick twist of fate?

Perhaps it’s love, a search for the lost?

Let’s be honest, it’s likely hate.

And it’s all wrapped up in that feeling that keeps them

awake.

Cause when you’re stuck in a world called yours, but which is clearly not your own,

One can start feeling so very, very, very

alone.

So, an ode,

to people left behind the bedroom doors;

Who close their eyes to become…

Supermundanae,

Something more.