The white box is exploding.
Also it's stuck under the bed.
My life is in that box.
Hundreds of journals
Striped, blue, tattered edges
Imposing to tired eyes.
I can flip through the pages,
Climb back into the mind of age fifteen.
Consumed with vanity.
Enraged by controlling parents
Boring bullshit boyfriend lonely weekends
Nervousness unnamed.
the mystique of life exposed and confined to journal entries and past lives...
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