I can't write in a box

I can't write in a box.
Not the big cardboard one waiting to leave with our recycling,
Not the small, ornate, golden tea-box in an antique shop somewhere-or-other
And not the cold metal safe that can travel and appear in every bank at once.
Not any box.
I can't write in a box.

Some boxes my words would overflow
Spilling out the edges and scrambling across the floor.
Some they would feel too small in.
In some they would cluster about each other
Making tight clumps and little knots
They would feel judged
And looked at
By too many molecules of box.
Flammable boxes will not work
My words can be like a ball of fire 
And frozen ice boxes and refridgerators are too cold and unwelcoming.

My letters want to spin themselves into jeweled crowns and beautiful rainbows
My words can weave together and apart
Making shimmering curtains of light
Or they're just too plain and ordinary
Or they have too much fight.

So please, not a box.
I can't write in a box.

dogpoet

VT

17 years old

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