I possess a box.

Some would say it’s a gift,

Others would look down condescendingly.

The majority would be envious.

Perhaps I am fearful of their judgment,

For I am only human.

I prefer to open it

Before the end of time,

And share its contents

Is it selfish?

Is it noble?

Is it necessary?

Is it innate?

We are told that we are born with this box.

That we ought to unleash it upon the glorious world.

We are supposed to grace this Earth with our box.

What if I’m special in the worst way possible?

Does that mean the box is empty?

Does that mean the box is foul?

But I desperately desire it;

I don’t want to be alone.

It would be splendid,

unwrapping the box.

I would feel complete and whole.

Never regretting my decision to do so.

Taking my time, yet completing the task inevitably.

I possess a box.

And it is my duty to open it and find out for myself,

What lies behind the elusive bow.