The Box

MEDIA

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And I sit here staring
at the empty screen
and the words simply
don’t come out.
They litter the floor
of this box
that surrounds me
head to toe
side to side
bottom to top.
Don’t get me wrong,
it’s a good box
that has served me well.
This box keeps me
smart
trustworthy
successful
compassionate
and grateful
for the straight lines and
detour free paths that
allowed me to reach
here.
And yet,
a good box
is still a box,
and the words that have fallen
into these corners and crevices
were the words that could never be said
for being too angry
too loud
too imperfect
simply too much.
They were words that
would have meant busting out
of cardboard walls
and taking up too much space
in a world that would prefer
a me that was smaller
and more contained.
But now I can’t breathe
and the echoes of these screams
seep through the seams,
and it is me,
all of me,
learning that any box
is too small,
any label is too narrow,
because we are all so much more
than even we know.
Soon I will know the sound
of my own voice
on the wind,
and soon I will stretch
my arms and legs and heart
and know, that finally,
I am free.

 

Poetry

  • 41

    As I enter into my 41st year, I felt a sudden desire to return here to my blog and write.  It has been awhile.  I have shared poems and other words on social media, and a few here as well.  But, it has been some time since I have sat down to reflect, write out

  • Hold On

    For you whose light has been dimmed in an already dark world— For you whose voice has been muted in a loud screaming world— For you who feels lost in a world full of mirrors— Breathe. When every warm body is out of reach, you have the power to hold your own heart with a

  • Waking Up

    Holding hands in the dark, the wash of moonlight spilling onto the sheets. A kiss on my cheek and a hug that lingers long enough to feel the solid warmth of skin and bone. The breath of a sunset sky, and the heat of thunder and lightning pouring cleansing waters from above. A singular burgundy