I accidentally poem?

I accidentally poem over on one of Ysabetwordsmith's works. Goes like this.

Once I dreamed of going to space. Nothing fancy;
I just wanted to hit orbit, break free of
atmosphere if not gravity. It didn't
have to be very far into space.
Just space.

Now I dream of tiny things.
A safe place to live, where I know
I'll still be allowed to live here
next month, where I can speak my thoughts,
eat the foods I want to, where I
don't have to hide who I am & what I do
for fear of attack.

Of enough food, tasty food, filling food,
food that is what I want to eat,
food that I don't have to hide,
food that won't mysteriously disappear
when I'm not looking. Food I can eat
in the open, without judgement, without
censure, without being told I am bad & wrong
for eating it.

Space? Ha. Space isn't a dream of flight,
not for me, not any more.
It's a dream of a room, one that's mine,
with a door, one that closes & locks.
A space of my own.
Such a tiny thing.