Box.

I grew up in a box,
The four walls surrounding,
Kept me safe,
From harm, from danger
Of a troubled world outside.
The ground carpeted,
Soft beneath my feet,
To soften my grazes, my falls,
The floor steady.
The ceiling, the limit,
Walls spotless white
For pictures for others to paint —
From loved ones to strangers,
That would be there forevermore.

One day — many days later,
I grew up and the box seemed smaller,
The walls closed in on me
And the once serene, pure white walls
Became psychotic and maddening,
Cold and clinical.

And I wondered what was beyond
Those four walls —
And so I had outgrown
That box I had always lived in.

z.b.

 

 

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