Late night ramblings on keeping feelings and memories locked inside.
the box i know Like you
That I could put this all behind me
That I could pull it all up and stuff it into a tiny box and never let it out again
And go on with my life
And smile
And be a happy man
Successful
Waiting for whatever it is that will finally kill me
And then die.
I could do that.
And everyone would say how marvelous that he could overcome the things that were done to him
Or the things that he had to overcome
Or some such thing
Maybe they could even write it on my tombstone
"He overcame so very much."
How proud they all would be
For a day
Maybe a day and a half
But there would still be the matter of the little box
I've had that little red box since I was a very little boy
And I stuffed things in it right along
Boy did I stuff that box as fast as I could
Sometimes it was all I could do to stay ahead of things
Nearly exhausted with the stuffing.
But eventually I won
I closed that box and locked it up
And carried it with me everywhere I went
And then came that day when it dropped
And broke open
And all of the things I had so carefully stuffed away burst out all at once
(Surrounding me with horrible truths
Such awful things
Things with which at last I had to deal
What awful times those were
What anguished times
And I could do that again
I could
I have repaired my box
And I could gather all the things
The awful things that still linger in the air
The things that have not run their course
Been understood
And stuff them back into the box
And have room left over for the new things that pop into my brain from time to time
New memories from here and there
And I could smile
And go happilly on my way
And everyone would feel much better
Everyone would see me smile
And I would not cry out at night
Or stare ahead silently
Or seem to not be listening
Or any of that
Only, I would still have my box
The one I started stuffing when I was a very little boy
That box
And I'm not willing to do that so other people will feel better
If I have to take my last breath one moment after my last flashback
One moment after my last tear
I will not ever shut the lid on that box again
I will not
Because the only place to store that box is in a tiny little mushroom house deep down inside the mind of an abused little boy
A place in which I spent 15 horrible years
Alone
And ain't nobody goin' to make me and my box go in there again.
That I could put this all behind me
That I could pull it all up and stuff it into a tiny box and never let it out again
And go on with my life
And smile
And be a happy man
Successful
Waiting for whatever it is that will finally kill me
And then die.
I could do that.
And everyone would say how marvelous that he could overcome the things that were done to him
Or the things that he had to overcome
Or some such thing
Maybe they could even write it on my tombstone
"He overcame so very much."
How proud they all would be
For a day
Maybe a day and a half
But there would still be the matter of the little box
I've had that little red box since I was a very little boy
And I stuffed things in it right along
Boy did I stuff that box as fast as I could
Sometimes it was all I could do to stay ahead of things
Nearly exhausted with the stuffing.
But eventually I won
I closed that box and locked it up
And carried it with me everywhere I went
And then came that day when it dropped
And broke open
And all of the things I had so carefully stuffed away burst out all at once
(Surrounding me with horrible truths
Such awful things
Things with which at last I had to deal
What awful times those were
What anguished times
And I could do that again
I could
I have repaired my box
And I could gather all the things
The awful things that still linger in the air
The things that have not run their course
Been understood
And stuff them back into the box
And have room left over for the new things that pop into my brain from time to time
New memories from here and there
And I could smile
And go happilly on my way
And everyone would feel much better
Everyone would see me smile
And I would not cry out at night
Or stare ahead silently
Or seem to not be listening
Or any of that
Only, I would still have my box
The one I started stuffing when I was a very little boy
That box
And I'm not willing to do that so other people will feel better
If I have to take my last breath one moment after my last flashback
One moment after my last tear
I will not ever shut the lid on that box again
I will not
Because the only place to store that box is in a tiny little mushroom house deep down inside the mind of an abused little boy
A place in which I spent 15 horrible years
Alone
And ain't nobody goin' to make me and my box go in there again.
