Boxed-In

I’m not real sad
But I’ve been happier
I like jokes
But laughing, I’m not
Who’s the snitch
That leaked all my frailties?
Where’s the Delilah who snipped my locks?

Are we all just coping?
Will we ever get over it?
Cheers, here’s to hoping
We make it out of this.

Can’t say I’m not grateful
But I’m weary
If I’m even allowed to say this in your hearing.
The person I’ve become
Has never met the person I’m adhering.

I’d like to wish myself away
And find myself beneath an ancient, river-side oak, drinking from its relic wisdom

One face comes to mind
In his day, it was a much different world – another time
A world that would never let us be.
Still, he enchants me with his stories
Though it’s his reality, that moves me to empathy.
Oh, those ticking tears on a plate
I’m only sixty-plus years too late

I’m certain, we’re all just coping
I would just as well shake his hand, as I would rest in plain sight of his Adam’s apple
Tragic like a teenage heartbreak,
Who knows if I will ever get over it

Listen, if this greenie, could manage to get her hands on a hall pass
I’d probably try to ditch this class
Maybe even rip up any sign I was ever in this class
And ride around shotgun
In nice cars with upper class-men

These daydreams wake me from an apathetic sleep
It’s an empowering fit.
The notion that I can tap-out of this—game
Or snap out of it quick
Like cold turkey, I’m fixing on a sandwich, to manage
The obscurity I’m aiming to quit.
What good will it do me
To let my circumstances consume me?
And they won’t, not today
Who am I kidding, anyway?
The box I’m in is my hideaway.
It’s falling apart, but it’s safe.

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