In the maze of my mind
I build walls—
bricks of expectation,
mortar of fear.
Each brick a promise,
a whisper of safety—
a cage I named comfort.
I lay foundations
trembling.
Fortresses rising,
blocking out the unknown,
the unpredictable.
Meant to shield me,
keep chaos away—
they close in instead.
A prison
of my own making.
Inside these walls
I pace
narrow corridors,
my voice echoing back—
the only sound,
the silence tightening
around my ribs.
Security—
a mirage,
shimmering,
vanishing as I near.
Leaving me parched,
alone,
in a desert
of isolation.
What I thought was protection
is a veil,
a barrier,
a cold distance.
In my quest for safety
I trade away warmth,
connection,
the pulse
of being alive.
And yet—what if the walls
were never as strong as my fear?
-
Author:
Chuck Peterson (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: June 9th, 2026 00:25
- Comment from author about the poem: It’s the comfort that confines, the safety that suffocates, the rules meant to protect you that end up costing you connection. A Cage I Named Comfort is about finally seeing the architecture of my defenses with clarity rather than shame. It admits something most people never say out loud: sometimes the things we cling to for safety are the very things that keep us from living. This poem was born from seeing the cost of the armor I’ve worn most of my life.\\\\r\\\\n\\\\r\\\\n
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Online)
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