Unravel me—open, bare,
A ball of yarn resting in your lap.
Your fingers move with purpose, finding my knots,
Lingering on my curves,
tugging gently at my loops.

You untangle me slowly,
Thread by thread, red string pooling beneath you.
See me as i am—
Whole, unguarded,
Freed from the weight of my knots.

Open for you,
Soft, exposed,
Yours to hold,
Yours to keep.
Unravel me

A box.
Like water, we fill the shape in which we fall.
In a box too big, water seeps in, grasping and waiting to hit the edges.
We are made to think we aren’t enough—our box may be too big.
In a box too small, we drip over the edges, losing pieces of ourselves.
We are told we are too much.

But make your own box. You’re perfectly enough. You fill its every corner.
Others may have bigger boxes.
They may be shaped oddly—round, curved, sharp—
but the only box you will fit in is your own.

I am not living,
merely alive.
I lie in bed each day, waiting for my life to start.
As if I'm playing a game,
watching the loading screen,
yet never pressing play.
I am not playing,
merely watching,
as people complete tasks,
upgrade,
level up.
I watch and wait to press play.
What am I waiting for?