Mess at the door

I'm not very poetic. I'm really not. Sometimes I try to be- tonight I wrote a story for the blog, but

A. I'm too tired to type it out

and

B. I don't think it's good enough yet.

But here's a poem I wrote a long time ago.

Yesterday
I took a box
made of cardboard
and packed away my worries,
my fears,
my pain
I taped that box shut
and set it outside
for the night to take away

But it rained all afternoon
and my cardboard box got wet
and everything I put in it leaked out
and stained my front steps black
now no one comes to visit
because theres a mess at the door
but my inside is quite wonderful,
really
If you would just walk through this mess
empty rooms that need to be filled
and no one to fill them
come in