Beige Boxes
You Can Never Go Home Again
I'm sitting here
In my car
Driving around my
Hometown having
A really fun combination
Panic attack and
Existential crisis...
Because I'm realizing
This place I come from
Is made entirely of
Beige, square boxes
And I am neither
Beige
Nor square
(Nor have I ever been).
I'm a rainbow and
I can't even think in
Straight lines
No wonder I
Could never fit in
Though I tried to
Squish myself into
Something that was
Easy to digest
Whilst inside I
Squirmed.
There's so much I
Miss, but I don't belong
Here, and I never did
So who does that make me?
What do I decide of
My identity
When I'm not
Seeing myself reflected
In someone else's
Eyes,
In this place?
I drive away,
Unable to connect
To the things I
Thought I used to know...
(and you don't even
turn to see me
Go).
About the Creator
Bex Jordan
She/They. Writer. Gardener. Cat-Lover. Nerd. Always looking up at the sky or down at the ground.
Profile photo by Román Anaya.
Instagram: @UmaSabirah
Keep reading
More stories from Bex Jordan and writers in Poets and other communities.
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By Bex Jordanabout a year ago in Poets
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They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
A powerful and evocative expression of feeling disconnected and alienated from one's hometown and the struggle to reconcile one's true identity with the expectations of others.👌🤘👍