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 . . .
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