Confines.

Little boxes hold us-
Those little rooms
Of identities-
Lost and claimed,
Inherited and earned.

What am I?
Who am I?
Where am I?
Am I normal?
Am I a man-
Or Am I an unseen species altogether?

Like a frog-
We perch on our own wells-
Afraid, scared.
Held by those walls
Of prejudices, judgement, notions and ideas-
We are lost,
Only to be found in our own echoes.

Consumed by the wish
To fit into a little box,
We create small rooms-
Often, without windows.

Shunning ourselves out of the little rooms-
We wish to be held back.
Comfortably numb, we sit;
Only to fall in a deeper slumber-
Losing ourselves,
While trying to define-
You, Me and They.