Box(ed)

I sit in a paper box, 
stark
and straight up. 
My body cackles
with my thoughts 
and tall aspirations.
Too many to stay still, 
flames almost licking the lid above me.

I have this paper box.
It is lovingly folded 
but unfortunately encasing.
Written on it is who I am, to others
because I am easy to read.

But I am growing, in blue fire
choking 
in the smoke that has no release.
I will find one, a hole
I will make one, to breathe

What is within me will burn through, 
the air of opportunity will fill my lungs 
and the box
will be replaced with a tower.
High, to the clouds!

A tower,
that has no top.