what’s in yours?

18 Responses to “what’s in yours?”

1. Miss Avarice
   August 19th, 2008 @ 4:19 pm

   This box of darkness was given to me:

   Tell them you're gay, or I will.

   My conscience won't let you stay

   unless you come clean to the leaders

   (your "spiritual authority")

   about your unchristian, unclean

   unacceptable

   sexuality

   Instead, I left smiling. I left my career of crusading (ah, foreign travel for the purposes of converting new believers) knowing I was in the right, and she was in the wrong. Or was she? I might not have left the place. I wouldn't be as totally in love with myself as I am now.

2. Sinclair
   August 20th, 2008 @ 6:51 am

   a glass of orange

   juice he once threw

   in my face. a small

   jewelry box of shells

   she collected

   when on the coast

   of england. a machete

   from el salvador

   upon which she keeps

   a firm grip. a necklace

   with a wing that fell

   right into my hand.

   and grief,

   grief,

   grief.

3. !spark!
   August 20th, 2008 @ 8:38 am

   myths of inadequacy

   and powerlessness,

   the mother of darkness

   a blackhole of a box

   I unwrap that package

   glimpse the veil

   comprehend the machinations

   behind the curtain

   open my fear

   light spills inside

   the gift, a rebirth

   tempered by the fire

   I am stronger

4. edith piaf
   August 20th, 2008 @ 7:04 pm

   a comb from his back pocket

   the baby alive doll

   an oak tree switch

   the print before ash

   the smell of her hair

   right after a shower

   knuckle bones

   1984 world's fair tokens

   bloody feathers

   a dried up man-o-war

   the poetry from that year and

   also those years too

   that clump of grass from my fist and

   dried mud from my nails and

   a bloody pair of panties and

   old spice cologne

   my heart because i forgot

   and ache

5. em
   August 21st, 2008 @ 12:27 am

   I married a man and I still love him, but I don't want to sleep with him because I am gay. I'm trusting in the gift, but I don't see it yet.

6. muse
   August 21st, 2008 @ 5:46 am

   in my box:

   a ring with a stone the color of the ocean from the ferry on the way to her parents house, where I learned some of the ways she would never love me. you could only see its true color in the sunshine, just like the color of her eyes. and platinum, a metal so pure it can replace bone. it was beautiful. I know I made it for myself.

   an ultimatum, a contract detailing the terms of the house arrest that would set me free. the cost: a decade, an angel, a family, and a friend.

   haunted feelings of guilt that I can't attribute to anything. my inability to believe I'm beautiful enough to be loved. the occasional impulse to destroy myself, because it must be easier than being brave all the time. the hope my heart will one day feel simply and trust wholly again. (you can get that back, right?)

7. greg
   August 21st, 2008 @ 6:46 am

   The feeling I get when I hate myself enough to wonder if I deserved it.

   The punishment I seek when I have been bad.

   My constant need to find an escape route.

   The defense tactic I plan when I go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

   The fear that I won't be able to save someone else from being forever changed.

   @ Muse – I truly believe that you can

8. lady brett
   August 21st, 2008 @ 6:46 am

   i gave it to myself. i guess it contains truths and untruths and fears, probably some hemingway. tears – and the music to cry them to. but that's speculation; i'm afraid to open it (it might be empty). the gift is the girl who helps me open it, and doesn't mind too much what leaks out.

9. Lo
   August 21st, 2008 @ 7:12 am

   All the time that I drank

   and,

   sadly,

   all the time that I spent in treatment and AA

   since then, nothing has really hurt

   (I don't think anything could)

   and that is wonderful

   perhaps I can take anything with a smile

   people think I'm an obnoxiously cheerful

   head in the clouds idealist

   and never have real problems

   the truth would frighten them

10. Samantha
    August 22nd, 2008 @ 5:32 am

    The inability to let go of what needs to be let go.

11. la petite
    August 22nd, 2008 @ 6:04 pm

    The feelings too harsh to live amongst the light,

    The tears that fell onto my collar bone,

    The whispered lies they told me,

    The sparkling diamonds the world promised me,

    The glamor I've achieved by selling myself,

    And the path that is not yet complete…

    This is too much for one box to hold…so I help it out and carry it with me always.

12. montglanechess
    August 23rd, 2008 @ 7:38 pm

    that i can't tell anyone

    i am a sexual being

    i am not the good one

    nor am i Proserpine

    just me.

    and i like it.

13. Dana, Herself
    August 24th, 2008 @ 5:38 am

    The day of my mother's funeral.

    Dirty looks from my mother's parents for my unending tears.

    My father being shoved out of the "immediate family only" room for mourning.

    My mother in a box.

    Falling to the ground with uncontrollable screams.

    The feeling of "this is the worst thing that will ever happen."

14. sarcozona
    August 24th, 2008 @ 6:52 am

    http://sarcozona.org/2008/08/23/pain/

15. Sublimefemme
    August 24th, 2008 @ 6:20 pm

    Dana: I can feel your pain. Sending healing thoughts your way.

    And on an unrelated note, I think your crushes on The Divine Miss M and Helen Reddy are adorable.

16. Sabrina Morgan
    August 27th, 2008 @ 11:52 pm

    A black and pretty ring (that will probably never be worn), not in my size, with a single diamond.

    Words she spat at me and never recanted

    that I still hear echoing inside of my head.

    The look of fear. The look of disgust. The look of hatred. A key to a car I do not own nor drive.

    The smell of beer and the print of hands upon my neck.

    A string of beads attached to her belt.

    All of the 'never's and the 'not anymore's – except for two.

    A bottle of Jack Daniels. Empty.

    And a mirror, at the very bottom of the box, if I make it all the way through.

17. Aerope
    November 5th, 2008 @ 1:54 pm

    Contained

    The lid slides off

    I let you place only your fingers at its edge

    But not your eyes,

    Not yet

    What can you feel?

    Can you feel the grit of salt?

    All that is left

    from years of grieving?

    Can you feel absence?

    Does it feel cold, pale,

    fading

    or stinging, hard, and hot?

    I will let you reach into this box

    and find with your hands

    what I cannot yet let be seen

    In the bottom of this box

    is my heart.

    Aerope 2008 (c)

Trackbacks

1. gravity’s rainbow » Pain

Leave a Reply