When I was five, my parents handed me a box,
and it was pink, with perfect, parallel, horizontal lines
running up the side.
I looked inside this box and saw nothing, so I put it on my head,
and wore it until I turned ten.
And when I was ten, my parents handed me a box,
and it was brighter pink, with perfect, parallel, horizontal lines
running up its side.
I looked inside this box and saw that it, too, was empty,
so I held it to my chest, because I was afraid
to put it down.
And when I was fourteen, my parents handed me two boxes,
and they were the brightest pink, with perfect, parallel lines
running vertically up all of its sides.
I looked inside these boxes and saw not nothing, but security,
so I kept them on my lap, and drummed them with my fingers.
When I was sixteen, I decided to fill the boxes
with all of things I knew that they meant I should have been.
But I went back, and realized that there was very little room;
someone had already filled them
with contradictory things.
Self-righteousness in one, with lace and bows and pretty things.
In another, self-hate, and tight smiles,
and the mark of one who was well-behaved
In the other, there was a family, with a nice white husband,
and nice white children, and a home for me,
and an office for him.
I shoved the boxes under my bed until they were against the wall,
and tried to breathe, because there was her,
and there was still a God, so I took up a knife,
but could find no one to wield it against but myself.
And there was still her.
When I was seventeen, I stumbled across a box.
I was a wisp of myself, more hag than lady or lord,
but I could still stoop, and pick it up,
and examine its sides with an undo hesitance.
I knew what boxes were.
But this box was all colours, and its bands were squiggles,
and they ran in all directions,
in purples, and blues, and the familiar pinks.
And when I opened up the lid, I saw only my name,
written on a card that said, "You are who you are, and you are loved,"
and it was signed,
-God
So I took it home and hid it behind my clothes,
deep in my closet, but I left the doors open.
And I took out the other boxes, and lined them up against my wall,
and found my fire, and found my grit,
and decided one thing:
never again.
I am no longer the hag, but the lord and the lady,
and I will choose my own boxes, with suitable decor.
I am the lord and the lady,
and the purple ribbon that represents
everything that spans in between them.
And I will never forget that
the only boxes you're required to fit into,
are the boxes that God sends you.
Points:
Time spent:
IP address:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
137,557 Literary Works • 672,043 Reviews
The lines "perfect, parallel, horizontal lines/running up the sides" seems a bit weird because when you say "running up the sides" I picture the lines being vertical rather than horizontal. I'd try to choose different wording for "running up."
The only other thing is that using "the purple ribbon" in the last stanza made me feel like you ought to have mentioned a purple ribbon before, but you didn't. And since the purple ribbon "represents/everything that spans in between them," it seems significant, so if that's the case maybe you should bring it up earlier in the poem (even if it's just once).
Otherwise I have nothing to say. This is nice, with the ongoing metaphor of the boxes and the imagery and the way we see the narrator going through life and the changes associated with each age, the self-doubt and the ultimate acceptance.
Blue
Ugh, I love this.
I won't even bother with nitpicks, because I can't find any. This is literally too good for words.
On the poem itself:
Strong. Very strong. You chose a great way of using a box to signify the mask and appearance her parents forced upon her. The simple way of stating that it was pink and had stripes signifies that the parents had a specific form of perfect and that they expected their daughter to become perfect.
The early years, with the child mindlessly accepting their set image for her, hits hard. Especially in the beginning, when she put it on without question, and kept it on for about five years until she started to question it, was just perfect. I especially love the young age it's at, because it shows how young she is and yet she is smart and wise and starting to discover who she truly is. But it also shows that she is still a child and scared and uncertain, so she remains hidden.
Then you slowly have the character grow to discover herself as the years go by, and by the time she is almost an adult, she finds herself.
I just love the simplicity of this. You never state an actual problem in this poem; you just state that who the character truly is isn't what her parents want her to be. You do this with a clear way of saying that God loves everyone, no matter what, and that message is conveyed in a way that keeps the mind of the reader open and unbiased. I love that so much.
Overall:
I loved this. I have to reiterate that. The poem was just beautiful. The boxes and the conflicts she was facing as she was handed the boxes. The message from God. The final message at the end. The fact that the main character took so long to find her true self and how she isn't afraid to show who she is. All of that was delivered with a strong punch. You're so good at having the messages in your poems clear and powerful and kicking the reader in the gut and making them cry. >_> But no, seriously. This was really powerful. Thank you for sharing.
I'd LOVE to review this but here's the thing:
and My schedule has been thrown to the sharks (Man Overboard!)
1) I'm sitting in a chair made for a 5-year-old
2) I'm sweating up a storm
3) Been staring at the screen to long
4) I'm feeling a might over-zealous right now
5) My shins hurt (don't know what's up with that)
6) My back is beginning to hurt (must be the chair kicking in already)
7) I'm the slightest bit ticked
I'll come back later and do it. It was beyond words!
I love this poem. It's beautiful and you should be proud.
Like the message of the poem, this is a free-verse that is unique. It runs smoothly (well there are a couple of tongue twister lines) and burns the images into the mind of the reader.
It helps you realise that you are who you are, not what other people want you to be. I can't fault this poem. I really can't.
It explains the naivety of childhood, and anxiety-ridden teens where we don't feel like we fit in. I can relate to that all too well, and am going through it still. I think this should be taught in schools to show people that being yourself is what we were meant to be. Not an image created by the expectations of others.
As you can tell, I REALLY love this poem and hope you keep writing amazing poems like this.
Evie x