Gloria's Poem (The Box) 

Closing the latch

He “checks" fake locks

Snaps his bony fingers

The moment lingers, phony triggers

That seem to only get bigger each time

He figures i’ll just be fine. While i’m inside

Beginning to slide towards that

Pretty little light, which, 

To spite each stitch

Each and every day gets

Just a little bit

Brighter than all this shit. 


In the mean time though,

I’ll gasp for air

Nothing to do but stare-

But my visions impaired with the

Lack of glare that seems to be paired

With being locked in the box. 


The box. 

My time alone.

My time to think

My time to shrink

My time to love

My time to hate

My time to wish

My time to dish

My time’s too late. 


Cuz now while on the verge its

My time to emerge from the blackness

“be a good little actress” and smile and wave

And remember the days when i’d say

“I want to be a folly girl”

Glitter and curls

Feather and pearls

Away from the world

Where my wings could unfurl. 


And I know know its naive- to grieve the loss of a dream.

But doesn’t it seem naive pretend you are in a dream!

That it’s not up his sleeve? 

That the card he retrieves

Is the same one as before

The same one that he tore

And threw on the floor


But look its all fine! The wave of a hand

He strikes up the band, strikes up the match

Strikes up these things sure

But its not the same as before

He strikes me to the floor. 


Because like his false shuffles and deals

He thinks i’m not real. 

A real woman at least

That I don’t feel- 

That I’m a swindler

Who steals exactly what I don’t know

But after every show, its a brand new low. 


And that dream of the glow is so

Distant- like me vanished in an instant.

And gone. Only to return soon

Again-like me-out of a cocoon.

Though that dream loses steam

And sometimes the beam is a glimmer

The slightest of shimmering

Will keep me here. 


Here in the box. 

Locked in the box.