Everyone always says,
"Think outside the box."
But you built the box for a reason.
To keep what needs to stay inside,
Inside,
And what needs to stay outside,
Outside

When people so much as,
Take a board off their box,
And let what should stay inside,
Outside,
And what should stay outside,
Inside,
They talk about feelings,
And they speak the truth.
They are ridiculed,
And laughed at,
And hurt,
Again,
And again,
And again.

Until they build a better box,
To keep what should stay inside,
Inside,
And what should stay outside,
Outside

So how can you think outside the box,
When you know,
That the world will always just,
Force you to build a better box?

Freeze* the pain
Let it sear its icy brand
into a corner of your mind
Throw it into the box
that holds all your broken parts
The ones no one wants to fix
Stains on your soul
You open the box just to reminisce.
To confirm the diagnosis
That you are broken in many ways
Irreparable without external help
But
How can they fix anything
*The box is shut.

Not everything written is perfect
Not everything said is truth
Not everything felt is emotion
Not everything lived is youth.

Life, passing and fading,
You frown as it moves on by,
Life, calm and sedating,
Yet your beginning to wonder why,

Living, living in a box of your design,
Oh, it's quiet and nice,
Yes, and you've paid the price,
Living in a box of your design,

Why can't you see,
In this cage of rust,
Who can't you be,
When your world turns dust,

Still, you stay there,
Still, you see it,
Yet you wonder where,
In this life,

Passing and fading,
You frown as it moves on by,
Calm and sedating,
Your beginning to wonder why,

Walls fall down,
When the crows cry,
And the king has lost his crown,
Then truth begins to die,

Now you wonder,
In the field of debris,
If this were a fateful blunder,
Or an act to be set free,

Though, amidst loss,
Memories alone beside you,
Are alone to guide you,
Had it been better,

Living, living in a box of your design,
It was quiet and nice,
Yes, and you'd paid the price,
Living, living in a box of your design.

Check off
     all these belongings from a list
that I wrote in thick blue marker
on a cardboard strip I ripped
    
                    There's a book I lost at 26
                    with dog-eared pages fading gold
                    16 pens, 45 cents
                    a dented tin of birthday cards
                    unnumbered rolls of mints

Sit back
     on the carpet in the heat
take another sip and press on
to the bottom. To the green.

                    There's a look you had at 28
                    with bow shaped mouth and arching eyes
                    15 hours, many road trips
                    your crooked tooth would slant your grin
                    Never saw me fall right in.

                    And today I pace apartment floors
                    or sit amidst a box flap hall
                    halted breath, an iron hour
                    clad in sweat, still packed away
                    in taped up, cardboard yesterday

                    There's a photograph, from 2010
                    atop the slippers that you gave.
                    Raging smiles, orange lights at night.
                    The River Walk in wintertime.
                    And it's my favourite pic.

But the 21st was moving day
and all I've got are pickled dreams,
an empty house and waiting boxes,
"Tear my guts out," so they say.

                    No fight quite like a duct taped box.
                    No companion like your face.
                    No shrink quite like an empty bottle.
                    No wake-up call like moving day.