your own cell

perhaps you turn
the key
deciding each day
where to lay
your head,
what to eat,
what to say
and to whom.
perhaps you are
your own
guard closing
the barred gate,
locking you
in tight for
another restless
tumbling
night. perhaps
you are the judge
and jury
of your own
life, sentencing
yourself to
a long stretch
of ambivalence
and distrust,
rattling your cup
against the bars,
saying you
are innocent, this
is unjust.