Allegory of a Chinese Box
The rice falls into your lap, like pieces of my soul.
I see my own soul in that rice.
It is white and fluffy,
like the clouds across a wide, blue sky of wealth and materialism.
Oh, the beauty in your chinese take-away.
The pleasure of simple things and men named Chang.
The rice speaks no English, just as my soul cannot comprehend the complexities of your lap.
Will you ever know the white, fluffy pain I feel?
You are so oblivious.
So concerned with dinner.
Like the recently immigrated delivery man.
Did you even see him?
DID YOU EVEN SEE HIM?!
I hate you.
I love you.
But I know the peices of my soul that fall in your luscious lap and in the couch cushions,
will only end up in the trash.
You betray the rice as you betray my soul
The red of the box is like the fury that burns within me.
Will you ever see the rice?