In a Box

In A Box BY MALIK BAKER Puberty, relationships, identity versus roll confusion As clear as a newly married couple with a hangover Too many faces—even just one Sweaty, shaky, within me a rapid stampede In the midst of a haze raid Like trash, garbage thrown out of sight. Residing at the center of the cranium Hypothetical criticism holding me captive. Anxiety leading to payback by abdominal torture. Dejection, second-rated, obscured BRAINSTORM, cause I either say nothing or I’m just not with it. More like imaginary . . . I have no real friends. Either stood up or no invitation Are they playing the Joker and Two-Face? Dreamscape, the nostalgia of my childhood days . . . Might as well throw me in solitary confinement. Four walls and the view of life from inside Dissecting the past and the future Like The Thinker, contemplating . . . he goes nowhere. This . . . is the good life. First time happenings visually repeat. Sensational like the nineties Plagued by the mind of Mr. Perfect Who am I? Certainly not the almighty Seven years of build-up to this day. There is no such thing as magic overnight, But the road to recovery is here. Trials and tribulations dismantled. The burden has been lifted. Don’t look back, promising change is coming . . .