I have a box that has all the songs I never sang,
All the promises I never kept,
Men and women I chose to forget...
You don't have to struggle with the
I bet you can see the archetypes of A misfit in the box.
Although I stay put as they decide
Whether I'm dead or alive,
Like some of the people who smell
Of death; I thought they were
Friends from the other side.
I never spoke of them,
Not even to my parents,
Who guessed I will be able to
Retain all the goodness, like a fruit
In the market...
I put them inside the box as well,
Ideas beaten, smashed and
Twisted beyond measure:
We debated if values had any value
Over bland soups,
Passing salt across the table.
The box has a see-through lid,
And you can see what's inside...
Like in an emporium, the glass
Cases storing toxin, lust and
Greed-- you need a bigger trolley
As I contemplate getting inside the
Box myself, with everything else
Everyone needs a safe haven after
All, but the doorbell rings and
I put myself back in the body.
Amidst the confusion of contemporary life, its complications and the unmet expectations, some people settle for the word 'misfit' to describe their dilemma. The poem comes from that feeling