Protect Her BoxA Poem by Shayla SayerProtect Her Box Every girl is given a box, at birth. It isn’t a terribly embellished box, not at first. Over time, each girl takes her box And decorates it, without knowing it. Some have lace, others jewels And some have foil or glitter. Once your box is decorated, individualized It never changes Because it represents your true self And that box protects a girl’s heart. I have a box. It isn’t very flashy It doesn’t have jewels or glitter. It’s a simple box With a simple lock But when opened, my box plays A long forgotten tune Of days long since blown away. My box is a music box. I don’t know the tune anymore But it was chosen for a reason. When you open the lid, sand blows out Silt, the finest sand, the sand that coats your hands And leaves a fine dust on your clothes and skin. The sand that I loved as a child. I’d roll down the sand dunes And come up, covered head to toe, With the silt that never completely washed off… My box is filled with it. I don’t have a ballerina that pops up To twirl and dance to the tune I cannot recall Nothing dances, nothing twirls My box just plays the melody And gears that no longer move Crank out the notes in a phantom way. There’s a mirror On the inner lid. But I do not see my reflection, as I am today. I see a laughing child of five, or six My hair clipped back Choppy bangs obscure my vision As eyes blue as the deepest sapphire Laugh at something a child finds mirth in. Front teeth missing, not two, but four" And freckles dot a sun-reddened face. Every girl receives a box To house their heart in. They’ll give it to you, if you ask Because girls are always trusting Even if they don’t seem to be. Don’t laugh at their decorations Whatever you do… Because each flower, each jewel Is placed there for a reason And if you laugh at the design Then the box will never open to your touch And another lock will top the first For girl’s are trusting, but girl’s learn fast And every time that box is offered And not held dear… A new lock is formed, on top of the old And soon the girl forgets what was inside And why it was precious to begin with. By: Shayla Sayer © 2012 Shayla SayerReviews
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5 Reviews Added on June 18, 2012 Last Updated on June 18, 2012 AuthorShayla SayerFontana, CAAbouti love to write. i have been penning down my feelings since i was 13. in my own opinion, writing is sort of like love and wine--it only gets better with age. more..Writing
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