Boxed In

These
Walls they call them
Construct me into this
Person they wish to see but
They can never quite get the picture right
They crop and resize me until I
Appear just right in their mind but I
Can't seem to feel healthy
With this concept of self-preservation and sympathy
Apathy of anarchy
And this content with augmenting
Who I am
With what I should be.

But I'll take a break and conjure up the strength
That shall slice
These corners
Those wrinkles those things you call mistakes
And throw them into the trashcans
With the bits and pieces
And tidbits of "feces".

They are
Only small things that you need to step over in order to break into you
They say
Things that get in your way so the opposition can usurp the king
They say
They can only be
Those things that you must ignore and turn a blind eye to
Because these walls we built for you
Are where you must stay.

There is no
Easy way out or quick conclusions
Those
Assumptions of winning this battle you are already losing
And
The thought that you can no longer turn back the knife that has been pointed
And jointed with your toes and fingers
Are ridiculous.

Are you really going to throw away the path painted for you,
That path so pretty and dawned as a new dawn of a new era of a new day
That path
You see so clearly and obviously have the tools to make it through the days
Where
There will be no sunlight and no moonlight for you to convey
Those
Things you find as weird as they may seem
Are the very things that can save you.

You see we live in a world where the fittest survive
And those who are ill equipped
Or fall into the systems elliptical
Run for miles
And miles
Seeing an outstretch piece of land
Waiting
Hoping
Make-BELIEVING
That there is a sunrise
An end to this nightmare
On this day, a very dark day
To the point at which they can no longer see
That they are running on
An elliptical machine
Running on societies scheme. . .

Don't worry that goddamn head of yours
I've raised and seen and sunned and bleed for
Don't
Walk outside of that box I so nicely built for
You
And to that
My voice finally shines out
Blending with the colors I have learned from the holes I managed to poke through
These walls
Seeing the hatred
Outside
Others are
Belted and blighted and pounded with
And I now say, and I now admit
That this box is a construct
Of guilt.