I wake up slow in the box.
No one’s there, I guarantee it so
My life revolves around
This weathered cardboard now
Times can change on me quick
In the blink of an eye

They will never understand
What I am truly capable of.

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder;
Case Number 100
Doctors and physicians mutter
Like they know

“I can’t be fixed. To barren wastelands, I send those ignorant fools!”

Diagnosed and thrown away
-Story of my life-
Even though I am just as human
Beyond their raised boundaries

I wish I could change them
Maybe someday
Right now, I am human scenery of the street
Yet, I am unknown to others walking over