BEHIND CLOSED DOORS Poem, by Carlos Alberto BUSTILLOS, at My poetic side

There are good mornings when everything hurts,

not a single inch that doesn’t ache.

From top to bottom and bottom to top.

From head to toe, everything suffers,

and that makes me intensely alive.

What great luck that I am still here,

riding the cart, moving forward despite it all,

despite whatever happens to me—alive.

And everything is fine, the world is blue,

there is life in everything, still.

I don’t give up, I don’t tire of being,

there is no reason to worry.

Everything makes me intensely alive,

I can be every pore of myself.

I can be any living thing,

I can leave my body

and step outside myself, and be someone else.

Leaving that body behind at times,

enjoying what is good,

bending that hardened body.

Dancing at times in happiness,

and sometimes I tell what happens,

behind the closed doors of me.

Comments +

sorenbarrett January 10th, 2026 12:34
We all sit behind doors sometimes open sometimes closed some open and some closed even from ourselves. a lovely write

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