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The Box

My secrets, thoughts, feelings
They’re not just hidden recklessly behind my face
My face in transparent; something would show through
No, they’re locked in a box I’ve hidden deep within myself

I built it on my own; it’s made with unbelievable craftsmanship
It has walls of willpower and nails of mental strength
All nailed together with a hammer made of fear for acceptance

It has many locks and latches rimming the lid
They keep it barely closed, tension just barely restrained
But the risks to my image rebel, straining the fasteners like an overstuffed suitcase

The box is opaque but hidden behind mirrors, invisible to people at a distance
But those close to me see my artfully screened box:
They see how its surface perfectly mirrors the exterior, how I perfectly mirror everyone else
And those who are informed of the box’s concealed existence are suspicious:
They can detect a false note about my box; they can see a glint off the sides of the mirrors

But my box still holds
The deceitful mirrors remain unbroken
And only a few are aware of my skillful creation’s existence
So in my box I still seal away the menaces
So in my box I still seal away me



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