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Kewayne Wadley Feb 2017
And when it comes to her.
She leaves little to no room for any moment to be occupied by something else.
Even with that being said. It still feels like there isn't enough time in the day.
No matter what happens.
I'll always remember how it feels.
The stroke of her cheek against mine.
Trapped together in a cardboard box.
Frame by each corner.
A genuine box. Wrapped tightly in the gentle caress of arms.
It seemed like a good idea. Provoking each other's silliness.
Considering how attached we were, it really seemed like a good idea.
No special paper, no gift wrap.
Just scrunched up faces in a small space. Trying to figure out how to tape ourselves in.
Postage stamps sealed to the side.
In deep thought wondering where we'd end up next.
If only we could keep one flap closed while one of us taped us in.
I suppose it would be easier if we brought tickets and boarded a plane.
But wheres the fun in that.
Mailing ourselves away for a day or two
Realizing that the best things in life are free
George Krokos Sep 2016
All those empty boxes of our lives
are like those things love deprives.
Our minds and hearts can't bear the pain
if in all we see there's nothing to gain.
And how cold it is without any friends
who don't pursue or share similar ends.

The days are bleak and fleeing past
before our eyes can make them last
and the nights are all needless to say
just like dark shadows of each day.
If we find it hard to make ends meet
thoughts in our mind are not discreet.

Yet life could be better or worse still
when we follow all those who thrill
and captivate us with their own ways
making us believe them as in a daze.
Particularly when we see in their faces
something that we're lacking in places.

How strange it is and so true to say
that life goes on regardless anyway.
It often comes as no surprise to me
when the people around fail to see
we are all living on common ground
and only have empty boxes to sound.
_______
Written in 2016.
Cheyenne Sep 2016
I know you're crazy.
I know I'm mad.
But I know that we're happy,
So is it so bad?

I know that it's wrong,
I know that you warned me.
But I know that I like it,
So is truly abhorring?

I know there are limits.
I know there's a line.
But I know that I crossed it,
And I'm doing fine.
I know you can't talk to me because you're busy
Packing all your things into your boxes.
I have to know, though,
Are you packing us
And the memories we shared too?
Are you trying to forget them-
To restart completely?
I can feel you putting me in a tight box,
Taping it up,
Never to open again.
I know you want me to ship me off
Just like everything unwanted you ever had.
No wonder there's so much space between us.
Because you left me in a box, sent me away, without I even realizing it.
I guess I was too much to carry along with you.
It was best
To box me up.
SassyJ Apr 2016
Path trended and passed
In silence they weep and act
Aisle after aisle a memory sung
Trespassed as eventful melody

Spears of death sink inwards
Body trembles as it fades away
A belong to the bare soiled ground
As the whispers of the wind evaporate

I lost my shoes, my clothes all torn
Blended in moulded formed horns
Knees crashed on the pebbles
I recite my said and unsaid repentance

The bricks, blocks and boxes boast
Rising above the past I long lost
As the heat rise, they make passion
A traction, the subtractions,a surmise

The sunrise once bright disappears
The lens clogged in blurry vision
A bird within flutters and mutters
Drifty as the phone once held slide

Out of reach, out of touch, outer tours
Over sensed danger, the blackened day
Liberated in clear skies,unclouded reforms
The pounded bells echoes lullabies of calm
J Foster Apr 2016
Damaged good are always on sale
In every store, whether resale or retail
No one wants something that’s broken down
Except for when they see that certain person walking around town.
She is shattered and mangled, but not on the surface
A beautiful sight, her eyes lit like a furnace.
She sells herself, but not for ***
What’s given away is more complex.
The idea of being wanted is too far gone,
Like her dignity which left her for so long.
So she lives her life always seeming distraught,
But really it’s only because of her thoughts.
They consume her mind and swallow her whole,
And every day it takes its toll.
She is worn and broken, and it’s clear to see
What once was so beautiful, wild, and free
Is now in the past, she can’t help but reminisce
The days that were once so grand and full of bliss.
She gave up when she gazed in the mirror,
Seeing what couldn’t be any clearer.
She’s still the same person that she once was,
Except now she’s in the prison which does
Consume her mind, her heart, and intent
For her sins she feels she must repent.
Her past is one that no one would yearn,
And to this day the thought still burns.
If not for that single mistake
Then to this day his heart wouldn’t have a break.
She sold herself, but nothing is new
For it has happened to all of us a time or two.
We sell ourselves short in all that we do,
But what we must remember is that there are very few
People in this world that remain pure and true.
All the rest are damaged at best,
And in the end it’s what separates them from the rest.
I discount myself, but I will never be sold
On any ideas that I have ever been told.
When I get put down, what people don’t realize is that I have already found
The worst critic on this planet, the one sitting down
Writing this poem and filling your thoughts,
Making you feel like that damaged box.
Perspective Boxes Damaged Goods Complex ***
SassyJ Mar 2016
These words you speak
These words you spin
Have infinite meaning
A definitive substance
Inject my mind
Flipping the norm
Unravel all the lies
They fed to us


Unlock my mind, unwind my eyes
Take me out of this boxes, boxes
Erecting all around me
Untwist my tongue, deject my terms
Pull me out of the sinking crane
Piloting all around me

Who gives the ****?
Just give me a fact
All 7 billions souls unique
This linear life is meaningless
Fictions to act
One day I am frog the next a beauty

The mystery of the dark
All shrugged in blanks
They say its locked in your head
A crazy existence
Dehumanised to decay
The police can’t even help
Inspired by Mouthpiece
https://soundcloud.com/user-367453778/dejected-terms
Cat Fiske Dec 2015
I wiped away every memory you left me with,
as I printed the messages like you wrote me letters,
sealed them in in envelopes,
but boxes marked incinerate,

I waded through knee deep snow,
carrying a box full of memories while wearing some I couldn't let go,
I removed your sweater off my back and created a fire from the tear stained sleeves,
I burned the rest with the box, and cried over the memories that couldn't go away,

I lay down into the snow, holding onto your memories that went too deep,
crying because I can't remember some of the things you did with my body,
crying because I honestly wouldn't wanna know.
like as if  crying would honestly allow me to let go,

you used to tell me things like how I didn't have to worry about my makeup,
or how I didn't have to worry about everyone,
and how you told me you loved me despite my flaws,
like the ones covered over my whole body,

and yet you tricked me,
so I'd let you in,
I was weak and you hurt me,
you don't deserve me,

but who would deserve me,
other than you,
you ruined me,
and I'm the fool.
old memories, bad memories. they never seem to fade away.
Jill Carter Nov 2015
3.
I deal with my
problems by
forcing them
into small boxes
for easy storage.
Lydia Sep 2015
I walk around my boxed up house
and carefully step around the edges,
scoot around the clutter and ignore the blankness
this house no longer feels much like home
not since the warmth of familiar things
have been boxed up, taken down or thrown away
it was all so sad how quickly
my home disappeared behind cardboard
and just became this temporary space before we move on,
just a place to sleep
I no longer look at a room and find its potential
or care too much about how it looks
because these aren't my rooms anymore
there is no future here between myself and these walls
it's bittersweet to think back on the memories made here
not all of them were good,
but not all were bad either
in the near two years spent here
we grew
together and apart
and back together again
turning a space from four walls to
a house we called home
the boxes are like a metaphor to my life,
to the unavoidable change that will occur in a few months,

change is in the air
and soon the long, hot, dog days of summer
are going to fade into colorful leaves sweeping the earth,
cool breezes in the window late at night,
and the end of summer, the last one of its kind for us, will be envitable
and
just like the time of the seasons
as the world slips into fall
  our ending in this time of our lives
will slip suddenly through our fingertips and give way to something a new,
sudden yet almost unnoticeable
but also completely, irrevocably welcome
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