the opposite of freedom

I told everyone I was leaving
said I’d found the strength deep inside, this time.
Getting to the door is never a problem
where I stand on the threshold of freedom
stare out with wide eyes and a wildly beating heart
before I twist my head, like the snapping of my own neck
and hastily shut the door, where I nonchalantly concede
that I’m a massive hypocrite.
Stumbling with gelatine legs to the kettle
I make a cup of tea to ease my heart
that can’t be tamed, yet refuses to be free.

© Indie Adams 2012