Walled In

Look at these four walls,
Painted purple, standing strong.
The doors, left unlocked and open,
Just like the window.
But this room is not a room.
This room is a prison,
‘Though a prison without bars.
And leaving is impossible,
Escape is improbable.
For in form and spirit,
This room is a prison.
But –
Aren’t prisons just rooms,
In form and spirit?
Whichever is most like the other,
That is where I am.
But whichever it is,
Leaving is impossible.
For this room is a prison,
But this prison is but a room.
The white walls change back to purple,
Objects change and move.
But which is real!
This room, or this prison?
Which do I wish to be real?
And if it were one and not the other,
Would it matter in the slightest?
For having stayed in this place,
I have lost my inner good.
Who I was once no longer is.
Oh, hold me in, walls!
I refuse to fight and weep.
I refuse to acknowledge that these walls,
These walls that hold me so tightly…
Are nothing but a dream.
For this room is not a prison,
Because the prison isn't real.
But in staying in this room,
The prison has become myself.


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Yeah, confusing. Thoughts all over the place... Tell me about it. I only half-understand it, and I wrote it, for crying out-loud. Actually.. I understand it completely. But you might not... It takes a bit of thinking, I believe. Idea came to me a few nights ago -- I tend to think in poetry at night, for some reason.
Give me opinions, pretty please?
Oh, and the title is... temporary. Maybe. I'm going to try to think of something better.

To be brutally honest, I don't like it much at all.
It seems like you were onto something for about the first third of it, and then you just starting writing random words as they popped into your head. Many of the ideas presented go unexplained, and therefore just fill the reader's head with nonsense rather than contribute to the actual overall meaning. That in turn makes it seem like you're just trying to be profound without actually saying anything.

It also contradicts itself, but if that was purposeful then I'm not going to judge you on that.

The thing you nailed was the overall feel. Unfortunately, the feel that I feel from it is a headache. Too much craziness.

But hey, that's my opinion. If this poem means something to you or anyone else, then so be it. (:

xD I knew it would be confusing. I just kneewwwww itttt.
Some explaining would probably help a tad.
The narrator is in her room -- the purple walls, open and unlocked doors and window. However, the narrator comes to believe that their room is a prison. The white walls belong to this prison.
"Objects move and change" = they're seeing the room morph in front of them.
"But which is real!" = they can't figure out which room they're actually in.
Near the end, they figure out that they are actually in their room. The only thing that is imprisoning them is their own mind.
Does that make things clearer? I have no idea. I like poems like this -- totally crazy and nonsensical, but they do make sense.