I wake up in a box,
just to get into my box with wheels
that takes me to another box
where I work half of my waking hours
typing into a glowing box,
teaching college students about
the wide open world
while inside a desk-filled box.

I’m trapped inside these buildings unlocked,
and I want to raise the roof off
to separate the separation
between me and the world.
Even my shoes feel like feet cages,
and I might just explode.
Most days I just need
waterfront mountain views,
with free feet and no roof,
just liberated, wiggling toes
under a ceiling of clouds and sky blue.

But instead, I’m just a slave to
an existence inside cubes.  

Like Samantha's poetry? Leave a comment!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s