These Four Walls

These four walls
do not converge physically.
The problem is mental,
And the convergence
is entirely a product of my imagination.
I see them stationary,
But I feel them moving,
Closing in on me and my sanity,
Crushing my spirit in the process.

The problem may be
that the walls are only four,
and I need more.
I need more options, directions,
To face up to myself,
My reflection in the reflective glass
Directions enough to make the polygon look circular
I want to see myself as all-rounded.

These four walls
make me forget there’s a door,
that there are no walls enclosing the globe,
that the globe is not enclosing my mind,
that I don’t have to see mirrors everywhere I go.

These walls make me delusional.
They’re full of beings;
They people the enclosed space –
And for some strange reason,
I am not one of them.
The beings make me feel
less than a being.
I am being
Suppressed by comparison.
And yet, the beings within the walls
Are not all.

Four years, four walls.
They seem to get stronger
But one day, they’ll fall.
One day, in the near future,
I’ll be free from it all.
These four walls have to let me go.
I want to leave now,
But circumstances say no.
Unfortunately, I use the walls’ materials
To build my own complex,
Though I still see my artistry
as crazily inferior.

These four walls
get mad at me
But that’s okay;
I don’t like them either.
Either way,
One day, I’ll be released
And realise that really, I’m not the least.