Insecurity

Words on a page
stare back at me,
but they do not say
anything.

They are empty,
whispers
of what could be
if only
I was someone else,
someone
who lives
outside of the box.

I like the box.
I like living in the confines
of life
and my mind,
but it never lets me
be
think about
have
anything more
than what I have
right now.

I crumple the words
and throw them away
because I know
they will never say
what I need them to.