Little Box
I fell back into mediocrity, or rather
it fell back into me.
I longed for colossal waves to crash through me,
Inflate my veins,
Saturate my heart,
Those waves so gigantic that when they approach you aren’t sure
whether you dive or drown,
A little part of you wishes the latter,
Until that tiny frightened laughter escapes your lips,
And you think,
Here is where I feel most alive.
But I have a little box
One that I return to.
It always feels so familiar,
Though not at all like home.
Outside that little box I found you. I held you in my arms and whispered, “You are always safe”,
No matter what happened to you before,
Or how it tainted the decisions you have made,
You’re still my little child who keeps me awake in the night.
Inside that little box I lost you. I wept for days, weeks, months.
I cradled your ghost and sobbed, “Where did my child go?”,
You were weeping also but so silent the birds could not hear,
And I was still aimlessly searching aisles.
Left. Right. Left. Right.
Little box, why do I let you keep me contained?
The pillows aren’t as plumped,
The softness numbs my soul,
Your tightness, it suffocates me,
And your closeness, it makes no room for others.
I’ve spent too much of my life alone.
Let me tell you little box, or rather don’t.
I’ll tell you all the same.
Listen up, get comfortable, let your lid down, we could be here for days.
No longer will I sit within your jagged walls,
Those that pierce me with internal claws,
No longer will I take slumber in your shadow,
Or nestle in your deathly silent throws,
There’s a child that I am looking for,
And you hold no windows.
I do not begrudge your caging pain,
And I now dance within the light,
Never do I long for the end of your rain,
I now tie ribbons with birds in flight,
There’s a child that has been waiting for me,
And you hold no light.
Little box is crushed, torn into tiny fragments and thrown into the recycling.
Copyright © Charlotte Boyle | Year Posted 2019
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