When Other People Tell Me Who I Am

 

When I arrived, I found a box with my name on it.

I found out soon enough, the box was mine to wear, 

And I am not allowed out of it.

It is tight and constricts me.

I have gained weighty opinions and the box hurts.

I am not having it.

You can’t tell me who I am.

Because

I am the wide open spaces,

Because

I have climbed into the crack in the earth 

And explored the ruin.

I have come to know myself without the boxes 

that I was put into, then taped shut and labeled Carole.

I have covered the box in art and writing.

I have unglued the seams.

I have pulled the box away.

Unadorned

I claim this space I take up.

This larger than a box space 

and I settle and expand, becoming the space all around.

Carole has left the box.

Carole is walking into the forest,

Magic on her mind, 

Carrying the box to sit upon.