The Box

This is a poem about the confines of womanhood and breaking free from the box we are shoved in.

The Box

Don’t color outside the lines.
Every canvas is the same.
It’s paint-by-numbers in my brain.
Don’t f**k it up.
Follow the rules,
fall in line.

Don’t think outside the box.
Even if you tried, it’s f*****g locked.
So snap your limbs and get inside.
There’s no safer place to hide
than inside these restrictive walls,
your silence decorates them all.

But I’ve never fit a mold.
I choke on doing what I’m told.
Don’t ask me to play pretend
when fires rage beneath my skin,
yes, the same flame you used to burn us,
on pyres stacked with lies.
My body’s not a quiet thing,
it howls from centuries of silencing,
by whispered threats and lowered heads,
and the mother’s tear-stained eyes.

So take your box and let it blaze,
I won’t wear its shape or take its name.
I’ll color loud, I’ll scream too bright,
I’ll live in shades that shame the night.
We’ll raze this world as we raise the children they once claimed,
no more folding into frames,
no more rules, just raw,
unbroken
change.

Author's Note

Please feel free to critique.