The Mailbox

So, I've started this new journey of my life, going back to university. And I can't help but notice that everyday as I pass my mailbox, it is empty. I find that most of the surrounding mailboxes get things in them at least once a day, and mine constantly taunts me with its emptiness. So, today, upon discovering that my mailbox is, once again, empty, I wrote a poem about how it feels to discover that I have no friends from back home who are willing to write me to ask how I'm doing. Now, I do understand that modern technology is becoming the place for words of encouragement and notes, however, I'm not even receiving those. My electronic mailbox is also empty. So, this poem is in regards to both types of mailboxes: physical and electronic (and yes, electronic also means Facebook - Wall as well). This is in no way a pity party or a guilt trip, just a revelation, of sorts, and an expression of my feelings. Enjoy.

The Mailbox

An empty shelf.
A hollowed space.
A saddened heart
feels out of place.

From this old house,
there must be more.
Do I have friends
outside that door?

I talk to them,
I wish them well.
But when I see
that empty shell,

I can’t help but feel
that I’m alone
and that I really
don’t have a home.

They don’t think
outside themselves;
and all I see
are empty cells.

Filled with sorrow,
filled with pain,
filled with nothing
filled with disdain.

It mocks as I pass
with laughter it jeers;
it sits with a smile
and smirks at my tears.

It remains empty
with each passing day,
and if something should pass
it shoos it away

It likes to see
one so downtrodden;
the girl left alone
the girl who's forgotten.