Little L had a Box…

Somewhere in the world there is a box, a big green Tupperware, actually, with no lid and a bunch of seemingly random kid stuff in it. It’s my memory box and I miss it.

I remember more about the box itself than I do about what’s inside of it. Which is why I really need to find it.

I bought the Tupperware the summer before leaving for college. I had already packed most of the things in my bright blue (of course) bedroom either in the attic or the trunk of my lil blue (a recurring theme, it turns out) car.

This green box was especially reserved for memories. I’d saved them for last. After they’d been carefully packed, the lid went on the box and the box went in the attic.

Who knows what happened to that lid…I never saw it again. The box appeared almost out of thin air a couple years ago. It disappeared again just as suddenly after our last move.

We lose a box every time we move but this is the only one I actually miss.

So if you see it, please let me know.

I searched for it again today, knowing it would most likely fail to appear but hoping maybe to pick up on its trail.

I did find one piece that should have been in it. I don’t know why it was laying in my closet after living so securely in it’s box for ten (fifteen..?) years but I’m glad it was.

My Poetry Project from 7th grade. 20140801-183913-67153365.jpg

Champagne Supernova, of course.

I am the poster child of the 90s.

Packed full of typos, bad grammar and even worse poetry as it is, I have finally become old enough to be more appreciative than embarrassed.

It’s pretty similar to this blog. I never cared for the “rules” of writing. I do my thing. Just how I am.


I had a couple teachers who appreciated my style, though. Thank you, wherever you are.

This one is funny. It describes my oldest son before I’d even met his father.


Keep in mind I was 13 when I wrote these. They’re full of 90’s song lyrics and teenage morbidity, but in hindsight I’m kinda fascinated by them.


The project these were written for spanned an entire semester. Again in hindsight I’m impressed by this teacher. Wish I remembered her name.


I like this one. We had to go through stacks of magazines and make a poem entirely out of whatever words we could find there. Is it just me, or do the last two quotes sound a lot like Capote?


With the exception of the magazine poem, this whole project was very difficult for me because the goal of the lesson was to teach us all the different types of poetry and how to write it. So many rules…


That’s the one the teacher liked. Not sure if that one could be considered deep or just spooky coming from a 13 year old girl…


Interesting how often I mention smells as I was born without the sense to experience them.

Wish I could remember myself. Looking at these I wonder if I really knew the things I seemed to know.

That’s why I need my box.

If you happen to come across an old, green, lidless Tupperware full of junk, please grab it for me.



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