Day Fifty Three:
The Rough Duckling
Lost in a puzzle box for a puzzle you no longer belong
to
Slowly counting the ways to escape, but these boxes
are air tight,
Bullet proof, and rough.
The only comfort is there are lots of pieces
surrounding you,
Holding you in place.
Suffocating in a shattered glass fashion: innocent
gasps underfoot.
Nowhere to turn but up, the only way you know,
Up to “heaven’s boulevard,”
Where they’ve promised a release
But no garaunteed escape.
Voluntarily, greedily,
Pressing your hopes upward:
“Please get me out of here,
Please let lightning strike this roof this time.
Please cut a hole in the cardboard cut-outs.
Save us.”
But in all, you are a selfish piece.
You may look the same, but going up is the illusion,
They want you to stay just where you are.
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