In a neat little box,
Put the lid on tightly
And tucked it away.
Though I tried to ignore it
And deny its existence,
The little box came
To my mind today.
I won't peek under the lid
Nor brush off the dust;
I casually slide it
Back into its place to hide.
Go on with my life
As though there is no box.
And even if there was,
As though there is nothing inside.
One box was no issue
And it held things so neatly,
I've added a few more
Here and there over the years.
They don't take up much space
And I tuck them out of sight.
It's surprisingly rare
That I have to acknowledge these fears.
On occasion it happens,
Someone sees the edge of a box,
Just a glimpse,
And inquires why it's there.
None of their business,
Nothing I want to discuss,
So I change the topic or explain kindly,
I'd rather not share.
Worse yet is when
I'm reminded of boxes
When I'm cleaning or
Looking for something I own.
It bothers me to see them
Wasting space I could use,
Causing unsightly clutter.
I suppose I should have known.
I can't keep adding boxes
As I please
Yet refuse to go through them,
Even to sort or condense.
Even the thought of
Opening just one
Suffocates me with
Anxiety immense.
I've decided this isn't the best system.
I really must take steps to change,
But after all these years,
I don't know what else to do.
Would You help me open them,
Acknowledging the pains, sorrows and failures?
Can You heal me
As the substance of my denial comes to view?
Age 26