Cinderella

When I was small I rarely left
The closet where I’d skid,
Like a carriage, right to left,
Around the homework that I did,

My future self a note
In the fading dungeon light
Which I wrote and then rewrote
And backspaced through the night.

I kept to a routine
Inside my dark cocoon,
As the keys of my machine
Swept the alcove like a broom.

I lived inside that room, alone,
And hid myself inside this poem.