Box

I used to believe that being on the outside
Meant death
Alone, left to die, with no protection
Easy prey for predators
Of the sauntering, human kind
And that the inside was something great
Covetous
It filled me with envy and lust
And frustration, sorrow, rage
Unaware, 'til now,
That the view from the outside
Looking in
Is better than the view from the inside
Looking out