My Box

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 09, 2018

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Submitted: July 09, 2018



Salutations to whomever it may concern.

My name can be anything, but it doesn't matter.

A rose is still a rose, no matter what it is called.

For now, call me a person.

A human being.

A fellow friend.

Anything except what I am defined by those so-called “adults.”

Examples include:

A slob.

A try-hard.

A faker.

Once a box is labeled and sealed with approval, it is to never be opened again;

Unless limits are defied--

Which is where my story comes in.

My box is getting too small to contain this ever-growing body.

My box is getting darker and darker by the second.

My box is becoming weaker,

Or am I getting stronger?

It's hard to tell what up is up and down is down due to the tossing and tumbling of my home.

It’s lonely,

And exhausting.

“Hi, my name is  [ fill box label here ].”

I'm done with pretending this suffocating space defines me.

It's not who I am.

It's a stranger’s house in which I have taken shelter.

This box isn't me.

Hi, my name is Rebecca,

And I am a survivor of Depression,


Suicidal thoughts and mishaps,

Waving through a window with no one looking my direction.

But I am a survivor from the box,

And that's all that matters.


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