A Small Box

Those writings that I do become like a therapy.

Each word written, each sentence made,

and even after that, it’s still not the same-

Time and time again of the worry someone will see those little writings.

Be able to have the key to my own wonderland.

That land of hopes and worries that keep me up at night-

Oh how I wonder what everything would be like if they did understand,

and if they did see all those little writings kept away in a closed box-

If they did find that key to open all those fragile memories and heartache.

Oh how I wonder if they would treat me differently- 

As if knowing my true self that was stashed away was that bad.

So I keep- all of these little writings in a small box ready to be shipped away,

From door to door where I go,

So when I get there no one will see all of those tragic memories.

And all that leaves is.. me.