My Box

I have this box
filled with a muddle of objects
from people I’ve met or places I’ve been
Sometimes I open my box to let people
I like
look inside
Sometimes when my back is turned
people secretly place an object in my box that
I despise
and sometimes they take an object and
its only when
theyre gone that i notice somethings wrong
Sometimes I give someone an object from my
box and wish
later
I hadnt
Sometimes I wish I'd hide my box away
and never let it astray
but then I suppose I'd have nothing in my box
would I?

poem by Jess White
Added by Poetry Lover
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