Fifteen

I was 15,
lying in bed
behind a closed door.

My heart slammed shut.

Angry,
not knowing why.

Screaming,
silently inside.

Longing to die,
to find some light,
or find nothingness.

Why can’t they hear
the words I can’t say?

Now I’m 45.

And you’re 15,
lying in bed
behind a closed door.

I don’t know how to hear
the words you can’t say.

I don’t know how to open
the hinges of your heart.

But I’m here
on the other side
of the door.