My first freedom cost me a scraped knee.
My second cost me my mother’s worrying.
My phone cost me the illusion of privacy.
My drivers license cost me petrol and responsibility,
My beautiful new house cost me rent and maintenance.
My independence cost me the luxury of being rescued.
Every door I opened came with another key,
Perhaps freedom was never the absence of chains.
Perhaps it was choosing which ones were worth wearing.
Perhaps this is life’s cruelest joke:
To be free is to have nothing worth staying for,
So I choose my chains carefully.
I choose the people I will love,
The promises I will keep,
The places I will return to.
Maybe freedom is not having nothing holding you back,
But knowing you can speak up and walk away,
But still choosing to stay.
- Ria <3
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Author:
Ria_1005 (
Offline) - Published: August 11th, 2026 01:25
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, A.N.
Offline)
Comments1
A philosophical, existential write of everything having a cost and freedom an illusion of just choosing which piper one wishes to pay. A fave
Indeed, thank you ✨️
You are most welcome
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