Crammed in a Box

She stumbles through her thoughts
and is numb through many days
not knowing how or if even when
she can impress truths in the right direction,
She feels as if her words and wisdom are
tossed like an autumn leaf landing somewhere far away
So many don't agree or have missed the obvious issues
that to her stand out boldy like a bright red beacon,
Even at this moment she feels words falling from the page
to be simplified and tossed aside and then wounding her empty pride,
She throws in the proverbial rhyme or two for lack of anything better
because she feels that familiar sinking in her gut and lack of air in her chest,
She is tired of trying to cram everything into a neat little box
so that it doesn't dare upset a tried and true course of action,
how dare this situation be unique....
of course this is a completely cynical thought and she wonders if you caught that,
Yes, You, the one reading this
Why can't I talk to you through this poem and these words?
Enter the page now and try to feel my meaning,
Unorthodox?
Yes, it is very much so
but to follow rules or technicalities would completely disarm this poem,
Will you humor me and allow me to make these words a living entity?
I mean that purely metaphorically of course
Or do I?
Can they mirror the situation I speak of?
The beauty of this prose is that indeed it can do anything I desire
I can control these words and how they react
I can manipulate them or twist them
or inject them with honesty that stings to the core,
But situations that confound us and burn us and torment us
seemingly have their way without any punishment,
Unfortunately people aren't as thirsty as these words are
nor as willing to be tested and arranged,
yet they somehow have it all laid out in rows,
in intricate yet too simplistic formulas
that everyone must abide by and fit into
if not there is hell to pay and usually the one who least deserves it pays the price,
It is all convoluted and upside down, backwards ..reversed and rewound,
Good isn't good anymore and bad is so damn good especially if it feels good,
It is all flipped on its end and it suffocates, pours toxins into the very soul
yet we walk around like trained robots with things in our ears grasping small black devices
or type prose on a keyboard missing the painted on letters that are so advanced they aren't.
Since when was a date a typed bunch of words on a tiny screen you can't see anyway?
I say it's a cheap date and leave it at that..I mean that sarcastically of course,
We meet our soulmate 1000 miles away inside a box and we wonder...
Since when has it been you found a four leaf clover or went roller skating,
Do you remember being excited at the voice you might or might not here on the other end of the phone?
I digress... yet I don't..
I'll end it this way..
They don't make boxes decorated with shiny ribbon for people,
But some people believe that's where they belong and refuse to see right from dead wrong,
Anger breeds anger and violence more violence and a friend it seems is an enemy
at least to those blinded who simply cannot see,
So I sit and plead begging for a way to relay this complex bunch of thoughts yet so simple it hurts, and wonder the reaction (if any)
Until I realize if there is one hint of reaction then I at least had a shred of success
If there is none... then it didn't matter in the first place.