I get out of boxes.
I don't like your labels.
You will not tape me; send me off to be received by others;
to be cut open and bleed peanuts.
I'm unwrapped busted bubbles containing hazardous materials.
Unsoluable your thoughts of me are not easy to return to sender.
Anonymous circulars addressed to current resident would have me
prescribe to the doctrine that my interests are as communicable as paper cuts.
Tanged tongues licked with adhesive not enough to glue gums shut and mouths from flapping.
I am the right side up even if my arrow points towards the middle.
I know that your perception of me is too big too small.
Obsessed like size queens I am not to be filled with your pressures.
I am ever expanding to accommodate heavy parcels or to just offer protective coverings.
So whether you choose cardboard or plastic, sturdy or elastic.
Drawn or constructed, locked, or unobstructed.
Checked or bubbled.
Straight or Gay.
I tend to sit Bi myself.
Getting out of whatever box you decide to put me in.
