The Eternity: The Poetry of My Soul II

Be forewarned, this is only for people who already know me well. It's from my heart, and posted here hesitantly. You can enjoy the tragic poetry of it if you're just passing through, or whatever. But it's a brave attempt to make the sign a little bigger.

The girl sits in her chair.
  She is lonely.
  She is hurting.
She wraps up her cares in a tight box, and seals it carefully.

She knows One who can help her.
  She wants to let go, but she doesn't know how.
  If it had worked, wouldn't she not feel this way anymore?

She knows He can use others.
  People, like her.
Bodies you can touch and hug, with shoulders to lean your head and cry
    on, and mouths to tell you it's gonna be OK.
Hearts you can touch and that He can link as friends.  Forever.  Like
    Todd and Copper.
People who can share her box, help her carry it, help clean it out.
  People who want to share their boxes, too.
   She knows she can help them.
   She wants to, even.

So she waits.
  And she tries.
  She makes a sign and hangs it on her box.
   "Open me," it says.
   "Help me," if you read between the lines.
  She offers to help with others' boxes.
  But her sign is small and plain.
  And the others already have friends to share boxes with.
  And her offers are soft.
   She is scared.  Her box is already full enough.

She wraps up her cares in a tight box and seals it carefully.
  She is hurting.
  She is lonely.
The girl sits in her box, waiting for someone to let her out.