Boxed In

The world is smaller from in here;
the world is darker and cloudier
whichever way I turn.
I don’t fit
and the air is running thin.
The very sound of my heart
scares me.
I fear it might stop beating.

The walls are getting closer
but they feel too close.
I close my eyes for one second,
inhale the taste of cardboard,
feel the smooth solid surface against
my bent and crumpled back.

I’m boxed in so that
whatever it is out there
doesn't get to me in here.
Because the sun’s too bright
and my eyes are too old.
Because it’s all I know.

To find the perfect hide away.
To be seen yet unseen.
To pack myself away
so that my discomfort comforts me.
Stashed away in my little box
like a child
fleeing to her safety spot;

it used to be a closest underneath the stairway
but now all she’s got is this box.
It will keep her warm at night.
It will be her sweater.
It will be like a mother to her,
sheltering her from the wind
and she will find herself
never alone.

Because in this box she can
create her own world,
own friends, make the impossible reality
and do the things she’s always wanted
to do.
She can swim with manatees
and fly with penguins.
She can climb mountains without the fear
of dropping off cliffs.
She can hang glide, scuba dive,
mine for diamonds.

In this world there are no worries about tomorrow
there are no deadlines, no wait lists
no broken promises.
Those empty wishes are plates full of food
filling her up
but she never feels bloated.
There are no desk jobs,
no doctor’s visits,
no more schooling.

The only thing left is death, and now
she’s not even afraid of that. 
At night she closes her eyes,
drifts off to blissful dreaming,
knows the name to every star now;
she closes her eyes to dream.