Beige Boxes

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).