They’ll put you in boxes that are lop-sided and torn. Flimsy, make-shift holding cells, thrown over your head hoping to cover you. Force your hand to accept their unpalatable dishes; their malportioned dishes for you to heed
They’ll put you in boxes that are fastened and bolted. Heavily guarded fortresses looped over your corps intending to trap you. Break your will to ingest their cold bloody cuts; their raw declarations for you to swallow
They’ll put you in boxes that are insubstantial and shaky. Carelessly assembled caricatures hitched to your senses pretending to protect you. Capture your attention to acknowledge their distasteful tainted crumbs; their bland slices for you to savour
They’ll put you in boxes that are hard and cold. Cruelly captioned receptacles dumped on your spirit proclaiming to serve your purpose. Beguile your interest to revere their sumptuous alluring spread; their venomous fares for you to consume.
Oh! Those boxes! That irritate and annoy yet sober and dumb you into acceptance
That threaten and violate but propel you into an awareness
That impinge and impose on yet awaken you into a consciousness
Those boxes are not your Saviour! Those boxes are not your Tower! Those boxes are not your Barrier! Get Out of Those Boxes!
Rosemond Dinard-Gordon (c) 2022
Garden Conversations with Roze 