A Metaphor Poem by Georgia Hindmarch

Inside a normal closet,
What do you expect to find?
Clothes, coats, shoes;
An ugly, forgotten shirt?

Mine isn't like that at all.

My closet keeps me prisoner,
Doors squeezed tightly shut,
I fumble through the darkness,
Calling and calling.

My closet keeps me bound,
Suffocating under layers of cloth,
I writhe in the darkness,
Calling and calling.

My closet keeps me silent,
Screaming though I'm mute,
I weep with my darkness,
Softly, calling and calling.

Hello, is there anyone listening?

Am I making any sound at all?