I have this box of memories in my mind
that I won't allow myself to touch.
Because I am afraid
the nostalgia would drown me
if I give into it too much.
So I just leave it in a corner
to collect dust and heal.
But the good part's
deja-vu every time I try again to feel.
It's not an elephant
more like a monster that hides beneath my bed.
Anytime I get excited
it plays on loop everything you said.
Because I just don't get it.
The hot and than ice cold.
I don't lose feelings,
I rip them out of me with a crowbar,
or so I'm told.
Because I remember every person
that has had an effect on my life.
So I rip open love letters
with a learned skeptical knife.
Because words are just words.
Compliments fade without action.
Why is my love only digestible
when it's about ready for redaction?
Edited circled parts of it,
ripped out so not a sound is made.
When he asked me what the box is about.
Because next to the box is a box with bandaids.
He looks at the scars where the paper cut.
I say I'm not ready to open it,
when I know the box has never been shut.
But I hide it, I hide it well.
Under my hands like dirt in my nails.
It only meant enough to me to write about it
so there's no other paper trails.
But it follows me.
It finds me when I meet somebody new.
He asked me about the box.
I know better then to question you...
So I put it in something smaller.
I made it less visible to the crowd.
But the thing about the box is
when I ignored it just gets more loud...
And the voice of it makes me shiver.
The sight of it makes me shake.
Every time I forget about it, it pulls me into it
like a nightmare where I just can't wake.
Because the box is not a person.
The box is not a place.
Because most of the time,
honestly my cruelest moments,
all have my face.
The biggest bully I think
is the mind of a younger girl.
Her own mind against her.
The box throws out a single curl.
Then it becomes harder to differentiate
just thought from fact.
Because the people we date
really just have a secondary impact.
A re-emphasis of whatever the box holds.
Today I hold matches,
the box collapses as it folds.
All these vcr videos of who I hated to be.
How ironic, isn't it?
Without them, there's no me...
The box...
The box of memories burn.
Shouting out "what ifs!".
My past and future taking turns.
Holding each other back from putting it all out.
They go to empty their cups,
but we only know how to live in drought.
And a scared little toddler runs into my arms.
She's never met the monster,
her mind never harms.
"Let go!"
Her older version screams,
as she's pulled into the hall.
She protects her from inhaling
the traumatic cause of it all.
A little girl wraps her arm around me.
She holds onto the side of my leg.
Watching herself twenty years from now.
Love someone enough to beg.
"He won't stay", I tell her.
She holds on to me tighter.
I'm all out of matches.
A little sister grabs a lighter.
A lighter and a can of worms.
The box collapses
under the weight of too many,
so many fucking second chances.
And aunt grabs a bat,
the room turns to rage.
My younger self rips out page after page.
I cover the baby in my arms.
I don't want her to see
the embodiment of her fears.
The one common denominator
all of me I find in tears.
The light burns so bright
that I shield them all away.
I had this box of memories...
Only one thing in it did stay.
It's all in there.
With a heart necklace on the floor.
Inscripted;
"Love again..."
"If you dare..."
