to live for tomorrow is to
live within your small rectangular box
and to cry about the smaller things
even when the box
shows you glimpses of bad things
and the rotators and coolers
grow tired and beg for death

and breathing for another day
is the action you treat dearly
with tomorrows oxygen in your body
and the worries of belt straps
and bad shoes
and overturned glasses
running through your blood like
the rage of a toddler
whose toy has been stolen

and you will move through the day
and see the little things
but without wonder
and the big with agitated disgust
and the prices and movement and sounds
will unnerve you like
the sitting box does when it
throws dead skin at you
under the cover of warmth
and the comfort of silence

and if that box is a home
and the world is alive
then you will be alone
and earth and wind will not bend to you
nor will the songs of those
who cry outside of the structure
who wail for a cause greater than
the man who ate the last donut
or the dictionary being the only book
in the hotel

and now love
now life
now the joy and tears that yield to nothing
and the chemicals that move us to places
we can never describe
they can wait for you
because your light bulbs haven't come yet
and if they had they wouldn't be turned on anyway

She locked her thoughts
in a box.
Along with her feelings.
But she didn't know.
They are creeping
out, eating her
from the inside out.
.
And there was no key.
No code.
Nor passwords.
To unlock the box
She locked herself.

Somewhere along the lines I decided that staying in the corner was best for me. The world was too scary and that I had to protect myself in order not to feel pain, but the pain that I felt after was much more than it could have ever have been with to begin with.  Eventually my thoughts turned into habbit which led to behaviours a belief and then a way of life. Being older does not necessarily mean being wiser but with growth comes awareness and  Im beginning to see that staying in the corner is no longer the salvation I thought it was and is in fact my hell. If life is a box then I want to experience the full four corners of it!!

There are things that are forbidden
The small black box in the darkest corner of my mind is forbidden
Things, bad things are in that box
It's locked
And it must be for good reason
There could be a thousand lifetimes my soul has lived in that box
Or it could be old memories best forgotten
I don't know, and I may never know
All I know it that that box is forbidden
And I don't have the key
I don't know where it is or where to begin to look for it
*And my feelings tell me that the key is just as forbidden too

splayed legs
on the edge of the bed
beaten and waxed
like some cake to be eaten

tied hands
fighting loose strands of black
blown into my face
by some cosmic faraway fan

sliced stomach
dripping of chaste promises
once made on the altar
ones that overstayed

chopped head
dancing in its place
ruining every grace
that this body has on offer

all of me
in so much glee
simply looking at the lie box
with letters from ghosts
love notes from bots
heavy with my reddest thoughts

why stare
like you have owls for eyes
blinking at wood
holding the kind of despair
your being cries
from years in the crust

why stop
with the chiming clock
guilty as you are
shoot those haloed words
and call me a liar
it's your chance to dare