Looming over your shoulders
Each stack higher than its former
Every thought and every scrap
Of an idea too scared to ponder
Every moment that hurt
Each minute that lingered longer
Than what fit in the locket
In the paper heart in the locker
Your mind is a room
The boxes are in the corner
The windows can be opened
If you have the courage
To wander
How do I push the words out
From behind my taffy tongue
Thick with salty tears
And full of grubby thumb
I’m a child
Pretending that I’m numb
To escape the overwhelming feelings
Parents are liars
under love
and fear for their children
they warp reality
twist fate for a time
to quell the rage of six year old doubt
and keep the bad things from reaching our eyes
Comments
Ahh, "the boxes are in the corner" has me thinking of the sometimes intentional and sometimes unintentional act of compartmentalization... Right, it sure does feel like thoughts and memories and questions can begin to loom over our shoulders some days, stack up like they would in a stuffy attic full of junk you can't let go of. The last lines of this poem, an open window to escape from, was the perfect image to end on.
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