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.
Dec 1, 2024
Dec 1, 2024 at 1:43 PM UTC
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.
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