How many cages close in on us as we age? I can live on any continent, I can fill up all the spaces in my body with any substance, but I wake up less free than the day before. My mind, with time and age I learn more about the greats — poetry and thought, art old and new. My brain, it goes deeper and wider but my brain is just a cave. The more of it I explore, the more of it I try to tame…I find spaces with no escapes and darkness with no trace, just sudden. And dreams, they are a cage. To look out or in from them is all the same. The floor comes in on you when your eyes look only forward with steady gaze. To be afraid to remain the same, even if the same is okay…what a prison I can make of the day-to-day when my happiness is not enough to create my own satisfaction. And my body, too, it is a cage. As I unveil from shame to share this shape it still remains, that I am prey to all that gaze. I wish to love this skin and its ways, but to let others love it also leaves me afraid. My desire molds for those who lust to take. In return I am given the sense of mistake or misplaced fate…and this body, too, just tires of the same act each time it steps on stage. And this stage is just a cage, this play is just is game, this day is just a frame for the life that I have no control over.