I had a box of my own
It was blue and purple
Mismatched
a map on the wall
I played board games inside its walls
I read Jane austin on the floor
I painted
I got taller
I grew up
didn’t have an excuse
for staying in my room
work for beauty
Work for approval
Growing up is hard
Leaving your box is hard
I paint flower fields
Purples and yellows
Fields of rolling green
But those are paintings
You can burn paintings
You can burn novels
The words forever no more
Your childhood can’t burn
Your brain cannot forget
But my box burns along with everything inside
A match lights and my palace falls
My sanctuary
My room
Paintings can char
My flower fields wilt
the ash builds up in my lungs
Perfect is not enough
Never
Forever
Always
Pick your poison
to ignore the inevitable
Growing up
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your vision, your voice