that was me, just hiding out
from all that nothingness, out there
unbound. No walls, doors, keys,
screening speak-easy strangers
spectral space. Lost in the leeway
evaporated
I found a box and put a room inside
seeking that safe way out
so I built it all, starting small
scraps scrimped for a bed-sit
doll's house size with effigy
of me, being moxie daily
easing through the exit
chary-like, not just thrust out
discharged
I found a box and put a room inside
but the room just grew smaller
like Alice I spread, expanded, stood
gotta take big breaths, gotta get out
join those strangers in space
that's my story, learnt to live without
asylum
I found a box and put a room inside
For my MTB prompt: Boxing Clever with ‘The Bop‘ – a poetry style by Aafa Michael Weaver of 23 lines, 3 stanzas (6/8/6) and 1 line given refrain. The emphasis is on lack of rhyme and minimal grammar with a problem posed, expanded, and resolved or not.