• Danni Gordon


I used to live in a box

Not on the street like a box a homeless person might use for shelter.

I just lived in a box

It was an acceptable box.

I took care of it a little bit but it was so clunky and I didn’t like wearing it, so sometimes I just ignored it.

As I grew up I noticed that more and more people were looking at it and commenting on it.

I was sure everyone was looking at it. Talking about it. Whispering something to someone else about it.

I had to make it presentable and nice. Otherwise they might not like it, those other people.

I would decorate it and dress it up or down depending on the occasion. I made it look as good as I could.

Perhaps I was like one of those cardboard toy robots that kids can put together themselves. Little buttons down the front that if you pushed one, it’ll squawk or say a little sentence.

The eyes I felt staring at me, was like someone pushing one of those buttons.

Those eyes would encourage me to do stuff. Make me do stuff.

But the face always had a big wide smile across the front.


I realise now that I had lived in this box from about the age of 7. Not too sure where it had come from but I didn’t question it. It just was.

I also had a few friends living in boxes too so it wasn’t unusual. I wasn’t strange.

Day to day we lived in these boxes and every morning we made them look pretty and presentable.

And even though the box was painted brightly it always felt dark inside. Quite scary and unknown.

A little bit ugly and a little bit sad so I tried not to think about the inside too much.