Boxes

You hear a glimpse of my pain
My past, my life.
And ponder.

Do you know me better?
Or will you know me worse?

Something now classified,
Common, accounted for, and checked off?

Or are you keen enough?
Do you see the complexity in something so common?
What would lead me? Me?
Of all people, you did not expect?
What would?

What is so deep in my heart,
That perhaps never you will taste?
Perhaps never will you know,
Never face?

What lead a man from that,
To great things?
Back to a further dark?
To a further dark, willingly?

Or am I in a box?
I feel like I am…
When people classify,
I lose myself…
I become what they decide
No longer mysterious,
No longer interesting,
Solely some predictable fiend.

Perhaps you understand?
You haven’t yet.
Perhaps you can read this and find,
The very reason why I hide?

With my long black cloak of murkiness
And my imprecise tongue,
Ambiguous thoughts.

Do you see it?
The interplay of you and me?
Of me and friends?
Of you and friends?

Can you ever not be
What people think?
Can you venture on your own
And not be limited by beliefs?

Can you be you, without me?
Or would you be as drab
As a locked wooden box?
Unable to open and peek
Without the other as a key?

Yet, still on your mental shelf…
“Why can’t he be himself?”
Why can’t he cut free?
Why won’t he just be?