The Box

I sit here banging on the invisible box you’ve placed me in
Screaming over the distractions that surround us to be heard
You see me as a lover,  a friend or a girl for some sin
You don’t notice I’m dying to define my own self in this world
When you look at me you see only what you wish
Your own version of how I should be
I do what I can to be that delectable dish
Because if I don’t I’m terrified you might leave
You keep asking me to speak my mind and tell you what I feel
But when I do it all seems wrong
Nothing I think usually feels like it is real
So I try to write it in a song
My desire to make everyone happy will be the end of me
Everyone has a label they want to use to put me under key and lock
If I don’t learn to love myself I’ll never be free
I’ll just keep banging my fists pointlessly against this box

~ The Incidental Scribe



One comment

  1. Wow, a concise statement about one of the plagues of our culture; the roles we impose on ourselves and each other which aren’t reflective of the genuine nature of the person. We are so overly involved with material existence we are missing our personal journeys. I think, I hope, it’s changing though…compassion, wisdom, mutuality are on the rise.

    Liked by 1 person

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