These Four Corners
To everyone buried alive
In these four corners I can say
Everything that I feel
About the world, my life, or
Things both fictional and real.
In these four corners I can speak
My mind on what I wish,
Whether that be about books I’ve read
Or my favorite kind of fish.
In these four corners I can hide
From taunts and ridicule.
I don’t have to worry about
Looking like a fool.
In these four corners I can simply
Cover up my eyes.
When I’m faced with reality
I’ll replace it all with lies.
And here in these four corners
I am safe inside my head
For a coffin is the safest place to be
When you are dead.
(2012)
There is a certain allure of being buried alive; that thought has been depicted in art, movies, books, poems, and all sorts of different types of media. At one time the occurrence that actually being buried alive was so often that grave tenders all over the world, and not only in Europe, would have bells attached to strings that went deep into the graves of the deceased, just in case they needed to let someone know that they somehow got buried down there. But I was thinking about how similar it is to be buried alive in a coffin and to feel buried under the weight of anxiety, of profound thoughts, or worries and fears, of self doubt or loathing. The comparison haunts me.
