The Little Brown Box

a little brown box sits on the high shelf

perfectly packed and labeled only “myself”

surrounded by others more heavy and worn

to you they seem fine, but to me they are thorns

when I was younger i kept the box open

was gentle and kind, made sure nothing got broken

i’d close it up tight and restore it’s place

kept it hidden away like a priceless vase

others would visit and take what they needed

leaving behind pieces and fragments completely unimpeded

as I grew older i turned out the lights

packing more boxes in the basement each night

the longer I knew you the bigger your box

but i never minded until they became gridlocks

it’s easy for others to open up you see

even easier for me to forget about me

higher and higher the stacks would get

Marissa the Altruist, my unwanted epithet

then one night it happened, a rain storm so strong

the basement was flooding, it wouldn’t take long

for so long i had lied to set myself aside

so i watched the water rise and when it settled i cried

these weren’t tears of sadness, they were tears of relief

i could carry the boxes out, they’re no longer my grief

i could have saved them could have tried harder

but what good would that do, just more resentment i’d harbor

I dried them out and gave them back

one by one, stack by stack

to long i’ve been storing them awaiting your return

when really i should have known it was never my concern

the basement now empty i can re-light the room

sweep out the cobwebs with a pan and a broom

and way in the back tucked safe and away

dry and protected from mold and decay

sits the only box that didn’t get wet

with a few dents and scratches from it’s karmic debt

I’m gentle and kind, I handle it with care

these days we have long talks, i bring it up for fresh air

i check for shelf space before i let you in

careful not to let others spread me to thin

That little brown box still sits on the high shelf

perfectly packed and labeled only “myself”

Marissa 6/26/21