A row of boxes sits on the shelf,
All the same, all wooden, thinking wooden thoughts.
But there's one, with a vibrant stripe of red obviously painted on by
mistake.
Everyone knows what the box is,
But no one knows what's inside it.
You see it, you recognize it, different from all the rest,
But what's in it is a mystery
Unless you pry open the lid or unlock it with a key
To peek at what's inside.
I am like the box, people see me as different, recognize me, judge me by my
outer skin,
But they cant.
They will never see what I keep inside myself
Unless they have a strong pair of pliers
Or a key that fits exactly
To my heart.