I Am My Own Jailer

I am my own jailer.
I posses my keys.
And unlike any sailor,
I roam on no rough seas.

I hide in webs of hypocrisy;
the lonely spider soul.
My arms are false synecdoche
that gladly hide the whole.

Who else could weld these bars,
if not the one inside?
I tried to swallow stars,
but my gut has only sighed.

I want those hands to grasp me,
and pull me towards their need.
I want to want nobody,
and overlook my greed.

A queer and quaint pauper
begging problems to resolve.
I trap myself in others,
so I won’t feel so small.