This Box

There’s a box under the stairs
There’s so many items in this box
But if I open it no one will be there because no one cares
There's so many things in this box including my baby hairs
How could this box have been forgotten
Oh wait, I know how, because it's mine and not theirs
There’s something in the corner of this box
I can’t quite make out what it could be
It’s just sitting there staring at me
I want to know who built this small box
Who had the time to pick this material, block by block
There’s a pair of my first baby socks
There’s a smaller box inside this box with quite the lock
But there is no key, so how do I know what’s truly inside of me
Maybe it’s pandora's box, maybe it’s stephanie’s box
As I sit here and try to figure it out the more I feel mocked
I search this box just a little bit longer
I feel my impatience growing stronger
There’s no key, or at least that I can see
But was there ever truly a key?
Or is the key part of me? Does it stay within me?
This box will continue to be a mystery
Because this box doesn’t fully tell me who I should be

Stephanie Davis
May 2021