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Rated: E · Poetry · Community · #1837206
Poem about growing up&making choices. Please review&comment! All feedback is appreciated!!
Boxed In


The cold, black walls move closer.
The box contracts until
I cannot move,
I cannot breath.

I hear you cackle.
You're pushing
the barriers towards me.
It is you who
cannot let me go.

My raised hands find
the smooth walls in the darkness.
I push.
I push with all of my strength.
I push until I cannot differentiate
between the sweat streaming down my face
and the tears squeezed out of my eyes.

“Please,” I sob.
“PLEASE!” I shriek.
“No, Meital. You're not old enough!
Please wait.
Please trust me and wait.
I've already lost one child out there,
don't make me lose another,” you frantically reply.
“LET ME OUT!” I screech.
Your responding scream pierces my ears.
The resistance from the other side of the wall
slowly deteriorates.

When I walk out
for the first time,
my eyes feast on the
expansive vista.
I'm like a child
in a candy store.
All I see are happy people,
smiling and dancing against
a green backdrop.
The bright sun smiles on the perfect display.

A little girl tugs at my sleeve.
“I want to go home,” she whispers
Her big, brown eyes
bound to the left.

Following her gaze,
I see you curled into a ball,
shaking.
“I'm sorry,” you mutter,
“I'm sorry.”

I look out once more
to understand why you are apologizing.
The green turns grey.
The people fall to the ground,
dead.
Water droplets strike my exposed face.
My wet body turns to face you.
“I tried to protect you,” you explain,
“it was all for your own good.”

In the corner of my vision,
I see the small girl
climb back into the box,
into your protective womb.

You expect me to race to join her,
begging you to let me back in,
requesting never to see the outside again,
But my body doesn't move.

In your eyes I see a flicker of fear.
I know you're scared,
but you can't protect me
from everything.

I cannot go back into the box
and forget what I saw.
I cannot pretend it does not exist.

Carefully, the young girl
exits the box and joins me.
Our fingers weave together.
From the outside she seems strong,
yet her body reeks of fear.
I squeeze her hand.

The scene looks completely grey,
but when I look hard enough
I see pink,
purple,
blue,
even green.

You may not want be to be out here,
but it's time we choose for ourselves.
© Copyright 2012 M. Hoffman (mpuppylo at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1837206-Boxed-In