Every morning 

My dad writes me a note on a napkin
He thinks I don’t read them

But every “have a good day!”

Is tucked away 

Into an old blue shoebox under my bed

Freshman year this boy wrote me a letter

With the words: why do you come to school looking like you just rolled out of bed?

I stored the words in my mind 

And the paper in a shoe box 

Now I wear dresses almost every day
And wake up 20 minutes earlier to do my makeup


I’ve been telling myself I’m over you 

But I pull your shoebox out of my closet

I cry over our photo strips and 

The origami flower you made me

When you didn’t have money for a real bouquet 

As I put the box back I tell myself

Maybe next time I’ll throw it away

The flower is crushed and soggy anyway.

Every time I buy a new pair of shoes 

I keep the box
It keeps my arms from aching too much

From the weight of all the things I hold on to.