Whispers

For my daughter

You have constructed a box for yourself.

They whispered in your ear - 

You will be safe there. Behind the veil, 

Inside the box, the Others

Cannot judge you.

They cannot tell you what to do, who to be.

They cannot deny the box that you have 

Declared

into being

For you have climbed inside it.

Your light has dimmed, the shutters drawn.

Feverishly, you paint a life inside.

There are clues laid, 

made

stitched

for some who are similarly

Protected.

They may enter.

Their boxes look disturbingly like your own.

Airless pain

hovers, collects

around these boxes.

Stretched, pulled, tightened, constrained.

Cut.

In the name of freedom.

Of self actualisation.

You told me once that you were going to fly.

Really fly.

Could I help you?

There is a way to do it, Mum.

I have tried to build you steps

That spur you on, that hold you up

That lead you up,

So one day

Quiveringly

Gloriously, 

You will flex, unfurl

and take flight.

My meagre steps are crumbling now, 

Half-made.

But still I glimpse you

Maybe

Striding towards them, 

Now pounding the earth at pace

Leaping unfettered, two, three at a time, 

Filling your lungs, stretching your sinews, 

Striding, scaling, 

Soaring.

The box lies crushed like paper.

It never protected you at all.