Some things are kept under lock and key
the secrets heald underneath us.
We clentch our fists in desire of pushing them away,
denying the truth;
because we do not wish to be sujected to our fears.
Sacrificing our dreams for a harsh reality seems foolish,
but is it?

Some things are kept under lock and key
like my secrets.
I shut my eyes, shut them out.

Some things are kept under lock and key
like my father.
They shut him out, locked him out,
from the world, from my life, my future and dreams.
I question our court systems
and the validity of their constitutionalism.
What happened to innocent until proven guilty?
Looks like we've unlocked a few flaws.

Held captive and endangered,
an innoccent man sat in a five by five cell,
with a matress two-centimeters thick.
Ripped of his free will, denied his rights:
he sat, and he prayed.
he sat and he cried.
That man was my father.

Down the hallway beneath the metal latched door,
bolted shut and looking to weigh exactly eight hundred pounds,
was the waiting room.
A gallery of people, women, babies and children to be exact,
Visting their fathers.
Newly fifteen,
I was among the children in the room.
Wishing I could be just like the tearing baby on his mothers shoulder
cletching to her and sucking his thumb numb.


The lady at the front desk spoke firmly with me
her cruelty deepend the black pit inside me
that seemed to be replacing my soul.
Like pressing glass shards into a wound,
or salt into fresh cuts,
her words stung me.

She exmained my birth certificate
and crumbled in my eyes with disgust,
like I was criminal.
I felt criminal, devious, and guilty.
But of what crime?
Of the sound of my footsteps echoing against the crimson walls?
The fear of the germ infested room that looked sickening?
The feeling in my stomach when my eyes approached the barbed wire?

I was naive and unaware of how cruel people can be
police officers will treat you like dirt
if they feel they have the right opportunity.
In fact, anyone will treat you like dirt
just give them the clear chance.

Why was I criminal ma'm?
why was I dirt?
Because you believe my father is?
Ma'm you aren't very smart.

My heart necklace set off the metal detector
when I stepped through.
She glared at me as I unclasped it from my neck.
And through again I stepped, not charming the sound to begin once more.
Thank goodness.

I held my breath and hesitated as she unbolted the metal door.
It led to a medium size room filled with windows against the wall
and stools, with wired telephones, connected to area beneath the window.
Blatantly I starred and the waiting began.
Shly I sat, with my oldest sister by my side.
Nervously I waited for my father to arrive.
I looked around the corner as far as i could squint.

I peered down the corridor but saw nothing.
Just sitting, waiting, expecting to see a large man
glyde down the hall in his hefty stride.
Instead I saw nothing.

The waiting grew tedious
and the room grew louder as the minutes ticked away.
Finally he appeared from behind the door
and smiled at me
the best smile I'd ever seen his lips form so quickly and surely.
I didn't need to smile back,
the minute a saw his belly enter the room before him
I knew,
I'd see my father today.

I picked up the line, hearing the empty fuzz
on the other end not knowing what to say, where to start,
or how to end..
His voice was that of a mouse, quiet and rusty.
Scratcy like always yet almost comforting.

I had the full fabrication in all my senses
that my father was alive.
No longer was it just the letters that spelled out his
presence , but reality itself,
not just my dreams.