This Box Is My Body

this box is my body:
it sleeps under my bed at night and holds my intake, charting the promises i make to myself, failures and waste.
this box helps me realize things about my soul:
i'm waiting to be validated.
i am asking to be stamped with a YES and an I ALWAYS WILL.
i stay in a place where i'm unhappy because i'm too afraid to get away.
what if i like where i go? what if i find out that this really is what i live for?
in this box i wait for something bad to happen.
i'm begging for an excuse to leave it empty, i want abuse for my excuse.
i am like everyone else:
flip a switch! knock knock knock on the door HELLO are you in there?
no, it's empty inside, just a skeleton of a house.
would someone please define me?
step up from behind and promise oh, i'll always be here to catch you.
surely that someone should be me, but i've retreated to a state of infancy where every single bubble in my body is begging for a cry of sincerity.
of an i love you for who you are, not for who you are to me.
it's a dream i'll be ashamed of later.
suck on your tongue, misses.
cut off the dead ends.
you'll be running in circles for years before you discover what the chase is about.
stop with the metaphors and be straight forward.
you want to be a writer? use proper punctuation. no sentence fragments.
hear?
don't break & mend your heart at the same time.
sutures are only able to stretch a little.