Door that Opens Inward
I don't know what to write here--more of who I am
When asked my name,
I only say it backwards now
like it is trying to reset me,
so I arrive at a different ending.
I fold my thoughts into paper birds.
Tell them to flutter away.
They refuse migration.
Just sit there–
squawking like unpaid bills!
There is a movie inside my head.
The screen flickers
whenever I remember something
I never lived through—
like when I was burned at the stake
or maybe I was striking the match.
At night,
my shadow clocks in early,
leaves before the alarm wakes me
in the wrong language.
I try to be “normal”
but outside, I practice being as wide as the sky!
It keeps shrinking to match my size
like it’s embarrassed to be so big.
No one notices—
except the spiders,
who have started applauding.
Time waits in the hallway,
wearing my shoes.
asking if I have seen myself leave.
I tell it “no” but I’m not sure.
And my name keeps trying to escape me,
spelling itself backwards in the air,
looking for a door
that only opens inward.
About the Creator
Tina D. Lopez
I’m just a human trying to make it in this world. I write about heartbreak, loneliness, longing, anger, family—all the things I can’t seem to leave alone. Everything I write is about me, even when it’s about someone else.
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