My Cubicle

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I don’t know what to call it, this feeling.
When I think I want to, need to, do something,
And realize deep down that I can grow up.
Stepping out of this box I’ve been pent up in,
Drawing conclusions on my white board of insanity,
Creating the puzzle pieces in my mind,
To fit this imaginary puzzle that surrounds my shell.
The only problem is the fact that I want to let go of it
As much as I want to hold on to it.
I feel naked, intrusive, instantaneous,
Without the thing I want.
Need?
Curling away from the danger zone,
Eyes straight ahead,
Planning my path of revolution.
Reevaluating the consequences of what my mind craves,
And my being needs.
What others need from me,
I thought I had given.
Donated without the questions,
Contributed to resolve unaccuring conflicts,
Avoiding the silent remarks of others.
What I didn’t expect was that
Each string I untied,
Hand I let go,
Would turn around and make everything change,
Dramatically.
The longer I stay in this cubical,
The more I surrender to its’ swaying manners,
The tighter it gets.
To relieve the strain and just not care,
Is a breathe of fresh air for a few moments,
And back in the box I go.
Am I striving to let go, hands wide open,
And build?
Or struggling to pull the covers up closer,
Surrendering to the world, and quit?
I will not quit.
As much as I want to forget,
I must plow through.
This spider web of a mess has tangled my emotions,
Sucking the life from what I thought I knew.
My prison, my sanctuary, my protector,
My cubicle.





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bubbles202 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 17, 2009 at 4:07 am
mhm. :) one of my poems was published in the winter one, and another is in the new one coming out soon.
 
earth2dragon said...
Apr. 16, 2009 at 3:44 am
Did you submit some of your poetry to Tattoo? You should! :)
 
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