Four-Square

We come and go, with our very own form of sorrow.

We played four-square to pass the time, 

Hoping for our square of sun to shine, 

and as the children come and go, 

We hope as we feel ready, they won't say no, 

Hope you won't play around with us for you to gain money, 

We aren't your freak show. 

Though we run and shout in our small place, 

My mind is still out in outer space. 

Life just is not fair, 

Is it?

In here, out there.

Then, with my heart racing, I pick up the pace, 

and with my small spot of sanity to spare, 

I make the decision to leave the dimly lit room,

As I go over there, 

and join them in a little game of four-square.  

Author's Note

Written when I was in a psychiatric hospital, with a notebook and a load of sorrow.

Reviews

[Alice Poésy]

Indeed, life just isn't fair. It's fairer to some and less fair to others which makes it completely unfair.

What we have is that small spot of sanity you mention and art as a means of escape and expression. It's really good to see you're using this space well. Good piece; your emotions are clearly expressed and explained.

[Nocturnal_One]

I really liked this one, it shows how you think others perceive you and the others that are with you. We're all just human beings at the end of the day, hopefully playing the game helped time pass.