The Box Holder

I see you staring into the distance,

trying to form thoughts.

I see you trying your hardest

to process

and tell the world your part.

But you see, dear—

when I am here,

I hold all there is to know.

And I keep you from reaching

the things that give your mind its flow.

I know you want this box back,

but you can’t have it right now.

You’re too overwhelmed,

too disheveled,

for me to allow that right now.

And I know you’re frustrated

that I think I know what is best.

But I’ve been here your whole life,

and I have a lot to attest.

I’ve seen what can happen

if I don’t step in fast.

I’ve seen what can happen

if you’re left to hold

this box of your past.

And with your past in the box,

I also collect

all of your thoughts.

You need time to settle,

time to know

that the world can go slow,

time to be away

from all that causes you pain.

I’m sorry,

but I cannot give you this box

until I know

you’re no longer lost.