Boxes

I am not normal
I
Sit in a box
Not of their making
But of my own

My box was my own
Life size
Barbie Dream House

Discarded cardboard
Likely from an appliance
Drawn on
Cut out
Windows and door

Sometimes
I just sat in
Any old box
Turned on its side

And watched tv
Eating cereal
From its box
In my box

Once at school
I worked in a box
In the hallway

“Excuse me. Why is my child in a box?”
“Because she can’t work with all the noise and distractions in the classroom”

I still can’t work
In the midst
Of noise
And distractions

I need my box

One of my favorite boxes
Was crafted by
The strongest hands I know
Weathered, safe and sturdy
Like an old Oak tree
Protective and gentle
The hands of my grandfather

School and society
Have always tried
To put me
In a box

A box
Of their making
Not of
My own

They try
To understand me
And maybe
If I can fit
In their box
They will

But I don’t
Fit in their box
Theirs
Is much too small

All of my parts
Spill over
The sides
And run
Down the floor

I am not normal
I
Sit in a box
Not of their making
But of my own

~SpiderRain