Joy (Third Attempt)

Stepping out the door
of your small apartment,

you see that your neighbor
has written a small note

on their own door: open
please, and this is your heart,

brimming red container
that roars with each pint

of what you are, your whole
life a poorly scrawled sign,

the open me you staple across
your airtight body, a plea

taped to every telephone pole
in this city that has kept you

shut, the years sealing away
each drop of what you hope

desperately could still be joy.