My Box

 My Box 

 

The look, its there

for none to see 

but me. 

 

The way it is 

I can not bear

 

The darkness is 

for keeps. 

 

Crumbling the 

organ that gives life.

 

Piece by piece 

I put them back scurrying

to catch the pieces.

 

Before any one sees 

the inside.

 

That I could not bear.

glorification is not there

only submissiveness.

 

What do you see, 

a whore or consort

I vow it is the one 

before not the last. 

 

I seek still the imagination

of what should be. 

 

Knowing this will last 

I have a box that is 

there to keep it all.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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