Out of Everyone’s Box
Why is everyone devouring the neon lights?
Opening their mouths wide open
for the pink, blue and green
beams shooting through the darkness
of the club?
Oh how I wish, I wish they would
smile just a bit, if nothing,
when the white wine sunshine
trickles into the corners of their mouths
though the icy blizzards and the clouds,
washing away the stale poison
and judgments of yesternight.
The bass thumps its way into
all the chambers of my heart
and forces my heartbeat to cooperate
— again, but, too stubborn.
As I sit in the shadows,
for every offer to be a hatrack and a
shoe-sitter— I have a glittery
‘Yes’ sequined on my chest.
How do you get intoxicated on stale
air and a freedom from
claustrophobia? I observe
their attempts to break the floor,
with a tiny, foreign flutter of the
But then the tables, the chairs
the lights and everything else, me included
screams a big —“NO”.
And I sink back in my chair.
But then a boy waltzes up to me
and my shadow,
and I see him stumble on his
lack of self esteem
coupled with an oversupply of steam.
Just then, he loses his spectacles.
And that is when I quit my job
of a shoe-sitter and get down to give his
life back to him,
one lens at a time.
And kick the road block of
self esteem out of the way—
It dissolves in thin air,
just like all myths.
I let him off the steam.
With that, I go back to being a hatrack and
a shoe sitter.
A tiny smile lingers,
but in it’s lack of grandeur,
World, I sit here to give back your vision,
your clarity, you owe it all to me.
But oh boy! just look at the irony.