I'm inside of their box; monochromatic and rigid.

The tendrils of my spirit are undulating wildly, and silently,
probing for cracks and exits and semi-kindred souls that
may be loose enough to drag to the periphery.

I wish to bring steady awareness to the line of pestilent
fear and dare others to cross as I dance back and forth
across the coals of enlightenment, juggling my own
consciousness.

In the meantime, I drink of stupidity; I've learned to chuckle
at what they think of as funny, and true.

They never know what to make of me, the foolish enigma
that I am, and I revel quietly in their obliquely frustrated
confusion.

At times, I am so infuriatingly sad, and uncomfortably
angry. Tied up in knots of the mind. Knots of ignorance
that don't belong to me.

There are so few that are willing to dislodge themselves
from their own veiled insecurity, and all I wish to do is help.