The Box

I was in a box with a window,

wathing the worlds go round. 

Watching how good the world was to those who put in their share

to those who worked hard

to those who had patience.


Turns out that I couldn’t see was the rest.

One day I stepped out of the box.

Unprepared for what met me

the scrutinizing eyes and the criticisms against me.

I wasn’t ready to see that hard work pays off when it meets other’s wants and needs.

I wasn’t ready to be met by resistance for what I believe.


See in my box I was taught to be open minded,

to be tolerant and kind,

to be respectful of everyone,

and acknowledge that they came from different boxes than I.

I was taught to listen,

to ask questions and learn.

But these things were not taught in every box,

or at least they were not learned.


I left my box and jumped into a world

met with no mercy or regard for what I had learned.

Nobody taught me how to keep myself safe,

I had to make it through the world everyday

before I could go back

and teach myself that what I saw from my window was not just an act.

It was a part of a truth, just not the full story,

I would have to make sense of it on my own

write my own story.

The day I left the box was the they day I could reconcile everything that I had learned ther as a child.


The box still exist.

Its just buried and hidden away

behind the walls that I built and the armor I made.

I can’t let the world take my beginnings away,

instead I made it the heart of my story so I can grow from those days.


The day I grew up was the day that I made that choice,

to accept that the world isn’t always going to listen to my voice.

The day I decided to hide away the innocence,

to keep my values for myself,

to find a place to write my own story in this world.

It was the day I decided that what I saw in the window wasn’t going to be easy to do,

but that I was going to do it nonetheless,

because those struggles are what make you



This poem is about: 
Our world


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