Six square sheets fitted neatly into place,
Screwed in around me ‘till sunlight escapes,
A square personality brought me into this space,
Did I multiply myself by myself, a squared case?
Or was I simply put into a box, masked with a false face?
Boxed into a corner, I bobbed and weaved,
A cubicle wasn’t what it was set out to be,
Open space is what I need, place for my creativity to breed,
Kalahari plains, Afghan valleys, the Russian steppes,
An environment where my insatiable hunger, I can feed,
Where words fill up every section of the food pyramid,
Gifting me the tools I need to climb to the top of Maslow’s pyramid,
Corners shaved, infinitesimal angles created a circle, no longer a kid,
Transcended psychoanalysis, melted down my mind into a mold,
Smelted out id, ego, superego, then combined, and sharpened my sword.