The Box
Written January 2nd, 2013
In my house, there is a box.
The box is mine, and in it I hide
When the house gets too loud
Filled with shouts and tension
Gossip and anger
When it’s too much on the outside
I shut the door on my box
And fill it with tears.
But it’s just cardboard
Very flimsy, very thin
Through its paper walls
I can still hear the agitated din.
Turn up music
Stuff cotton in my ears
Even when it’s quiet
I can still feel the scars
From all the dysfunctional years.
