The box in me that I am

A box invisible, intangible, unseen
Yet grips, mistreats, distorts
Though not the body, the blood, the flesh
Strangles, Suffocates, frustrates

In such a box I am, of my own mind
One that gives no less than a torrid time
While the exterior radiates, gleams;
The insides burn, steam trapped within

What built this box? What made it grow?
Who carpentered it? Who made it whole?
Problems, relations, tiredness, distress
Made the mind think, and sanity digress

30 days of wailing heard, cries of pain
No way to help, all advice in vain
Problem of the old folk, new to no one
Yet when it comes, they wish they weren’t that someone

Of union, of life, and news of death
Made the body tired, the mind stretched
Eyes turned white, as shock and horror
Turn the face to a near pale colour

Not my problems, and yet in it I share
Should it not be made mine? Should I not even care?
But the soul grieves, and the heart feels despair
For those who are afflicted, for those whom I care

Of these I am not spared. How about my own?
There’s that thorn, for so long; overgrown
The one that stings every time I sit,
Stand, crouch, lie or leap

The one that pokes the hip, pain
The one that tightly tangles the veins
Matter of the heart, conflict of interest,
Created hate in a friend, one dear at first

The one that hates, hurts
The one that is hated, even more so, hurts
The mind already torn, already tattered
Now continually flogged, repeatedly tortured

Pile upon pile, heap upon heap
Confusion overwhelms, blood pressures leap
Frustration, with a cause far unknown
Still finds a way to squeeze, to hold

Is it the inciter? The accuser?
Circumstance? Or just me?
That’s causing distraught in all I do
or see

conclusion? Who is the culprit?
The thorn? The snare?
I find no answer
In this 30 days, no answer was there

Only a clue, made sense, not much, but some
That It isn’t here, and it was never there
For that which I was in, I had already become
The answer is ME, I’m the invisible square

- anonymous