My Poems (more like rants but...)

Me breaking my box

*reminder this is exactly what I had in my notes app so... don't expect much...*

For A person,

Hi! I made myself a promise that I would write something this year. It could be a speech or essay or a really long note. And I did. I also made myself promise that I would give it to someone, I was thinking, my brother, cousin, or... But the second part is the promise that you make yourself say but you know will never do. I am trying to do it now. I wrote this over the summer whenever I was feeling down. I did not make this with the actual idea of making it good, so I know it is kinda boring but I made myself a promise and I intend to keep it. This is called:

Me breaking MY box.

     I have a wood box. Its tiny, about the size of my hand. My hand grows with every second. Its never been painted, smooth, clean, cold to the touch, with a gold rim.

Something embarrassing happens, or someone says something mean, or I just don't want to deal with life, I put it in MY box. I imagine putting my memory in MY box, and then lock the box with my special key. It makes me feel empty, but isn't empty better then sad, angry, jealous, lonely ... I add to my box.

My box has no keyhole only a latch. I know it will burst at any second. So I open it. Carefully to never open it too wide, to only grab the old wounds, the ones that have died down. But never the ones that always hurt. I open it at night when everyone is asleep. I cradle it, wrap it around myself like a weighted blanket. Only this blanket is the weight of the universe. It is the center of my universe, my only thought, swimming in my "empty" brain. I cry. No, I don't cry, I sob. I scream, in my head. Then it stops, I might be tired of crying or screaming or maybe it just stopped being the center of my universe. And then I sleep. I dream empty dreams. I repeat this. At one point everything goes in MY box. Everything will want to make me cry or scream. I dropped my pencil...... box. I dirtied my couch...... box. There is a hole on the bottom of MY box. The tiny things slip away and are forgotten.

Why can't I scream or cry or punch or kick whenever I want? Why is MY box, this speech,this note, this essay needed?

You know I don't believe in those who say " we are true to ourselves, we are truthful" , because I know everyone has a box, a different box, but still a box. A box that grows with age, a box that might explode.

My box, is there for me.

I know it's "unhealthy" but it does help. It keeps me here. How can that be bad. After all, you can't cry, scream, punch, kick whenever your pencil falls or you dirty your couch.

My box is perfect in my eyes. Perfect can only be described when there is a better half or another version of my box, if the creator has imagined something bigger, better, but there isn't. My box is perfect, my box has dents, bruises, scars, holes, any imperfection you could imagine. I have imagined. I molded my perfect box, I "perfected it"and no one no matter what, can change that.

My box is there for me.

My box is my secret, don't tell nobody. If you do my box breaks because the whole purpose of my box is to stay secret, is to stay mine, so this is me breaking my box.

*this is the definition of cringe! I wrote this, like it says, over the summer (two summers ago!) so... it's cringe... so... if u made it this far (for some reason.. what did u think? Suggestions?) I have more and won't stop bc it stops me from doing things I would regret... when I read it over... idk why...

What does your box look like? (It doesn't have to be a box it can be anything!)

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Okay to end it on a happier here is a joke:

I got fired from the bank today. Idk why. A women asked me to check her balance so I pushed her over!   

Put a joke (if u have gotten here), if u want here to lighten the mood!

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