In a box

I am in a box.

Not literally in a box.

But I am in a box in a way that you wouldn’t understand unless you, too, were also in this box.

I am small.

Not physically small.

But I am small in a way that you wouldn’t understand unless you, too, were also small.

I am alone.

Not exactly alone; people surround me everywhere I look.

But I am alone in a way that you wouldn’t understand unless you, too, were also alone.

I am always in the dark.

Not actually always in the dark.

But I am in the dark in a way that you wouldn’t understand unless you, too, were also in the dark.

I am in a small box, alone, in the dark..

Not literally, of course.

But the feeling of being trapped still lurks inside the depths of who I am..

And that’s another thing.

Who am I?

I am nothing.

But nothing is always something, is it not?

So I must be something, but to what? To whom?

Once again I am in a box, but this box must be addressed to go somewhere.

But to where? And why?

Who will I be once I’m out of this box.. What will I be?

I am in the cold. Misty, foggy, air is all around me.

But… Not truly. For this misty, dank, and foggy feeling that is all around me is actually inside of me.

Warmth is something I need; something I crave.

Warmth is easy to get. Almost everything is.

I could get out of this box. I could rid of the foggy air inside of me. I could escape the loneliness and the feeling of being so small.

Then I could be warm… But hesitation feels my lungs and runs through my veins.

Not everyone will like the creature that leaves the box.

Not everyone will be kind to what is inside.

Actually, it is quite dangerous to leave these cardboard walls that are around me.

They keep me safe and protected, yet they are the root of all of the pain.

I am in a box.

Trapped inside a box.

Not literally though.

But I am in a box in a way that you wouldn’t understand unless you, too, were also in this box.