she sits in her box
that box in a corner
she hardly ever protests
just laughs
her laugh tinged with exhaustion
insomnia laziness genius

she is beautiful
but her box is not
& her family whispers
and compares her box
with other boxes that they find
in other children's rooms
big ones little ones long ones skinny ones
silver ones spiraled ones painted ones
carved ones mahogany ones
even invisibile ones
where their inhabitants are allowed to shine
& people can see that shooting star
burst

but hers is cardboard and filled with paperwork
she spends her time perfecting everything
and she is overwhelmed

but she is happy

until one day she will tear out of her box
loose leafs scattered
a new plasma shining in her eyes
& her family just hopes she will not rip
the box out of spite

but for now
she just laughs