box – a poem

my life – a box

and the walls made of you

you were the one to decide 

what went in

 what could get out

how shaky it would get or calm

I tried to climb 

  you pushed me down

when I was too still

  you would pin your words 

 into my flesh

 tear it open and paint it red 

produce tears 

 proudly branded by you

my lungs between your index and thumb

as you would define the amount of air

 how long I’d breathe and even if

my existence 

nothing 

yours – 

dictatorship

– Veronika Foer

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