Is it a box, where the feelings
go, whenever they’re pushed
away? They don’t cease
living just because they’re
unwanted. Perhaps they
become more like feral kittens,
their round eyes peering out
from around decking material
but always too frightened to
come out as long as
someone is watching. It’s a
shame, really, when what
they really need is a kind
hand to reach down and gently
rub behind their ears, a soft
voice to reassure them.
Not Quiet Any More 