My very own cage

Some thoughts about not being able to fully be yourself.

I live inside myself.
Deep inside, locked curled up in a cage of something you could describe as a cage.
A cage that prevents me from being the real me.
A cage made out of steal, impossible to break by myself.
Sometimes , my cage and me are able to coexist.
I move on with my daily schedule, and the cage forms a protective shield around me.
But there is some times, I do not want to be protected.
There is some times, where I just want to break free and leave the cage behind.
Needless to say, I have tried.
I tried scratching and screaming, hoping someone would hear and save me, but my fingers got sore from scratching the rusty steel and my screams remained unanswered.
Every once in a while I‘m still screaming, but I‘ve learned it leads to nothing but disappointment.
I‘m starting to think, why am I even complaining?
My cage is quite comfortable,
I‘m sure I would have other worries without it.