when you begin to read this or listen you'll begin to think is it slam poetry and if the rhythm picks up you'll call it rap

then you'll question the meaning
did I mean to take a stand
or did I fall down the philosophical well

then you'll determine whether this is any good or if its just a load of crap and then you'll decide you could really care less
So you'll put me in a box, and leave me on a shelf stored nice and orderly away
or at least you'll try
the thing is a box is a shape I am not

I'm a bit round so you might want to call me a circle
I have three points so should I be deemed a triangle
but I have four sides, but square I am not
Liar you call me, disbelief coloring your tone, to thick and prejudiced of a brush if you ask me
but you never would

I swear to you I have a roundish disposition
with three shark teeth points
and four smooth sides

So no matter how many times you shove and try to force me into your box
I'll never be the right shape to perfectly fit in your stupid box
but you'll try

Your words cut and your actions carve
I become much less round
my points smooth
and my sides become weak and flexible
and my shape disappears as I become your shape and with a final shove I'll fall into the box
a bit snug, no room to find my own way

So I'll stay in there fro awhile and I'll search around falling deeper and deeper
looking for the little treasures promised at the bottom
golden acceptance, emerald love, diamond of happiness,
my hands sift through the black sand and find nothing but my hands come up bloody and scarred
and the tears will etch paths into my skin, another change to add to the list
I'll think its all over, that the sun will never brighten my day
anger at my choices will be the impenetrable clouds

but then a light, a guiding light,
glows from the top of my cage
I slowly try to ease my way out of the infernal box which has become too roomy as I shrank myself to fit your wants not my needs
I want to pull myself out, a breath of fresh air to fill my lungs black with regret

I miss the days when my roundness jiggled with laughter, when my three points cut through books with gusto, and when my glorious sides gave me protection, but still allowed friends to come in, but now none want to join the exclusive box parties

I come out eventually, an almost impossible journey,
my roundness returns
points appear, and sides too
yet I know I will never be the same afraid to be too round , or sharp, or as unique as
I once was

Now I'm a bit round
I could possibly have three sides
and if you'll look close you might think I have four sides

You'll finish my manifesto and I know you'll have an opinion,
You'll ponder what it all means, is it a warning or a story
but the thing is it won't matter to me because I'm just so relieved not to be a box like my pathetic friend,
you