Four Walls

These four walls contain who I am.
Within them, you can find my life,
my entire history in frames,
my subconscious packed into a bookcase,
my heart on the pages of poetry I write.
I am alone in these walls.
I spend time here with myself
reflecting and thinking of all
the things I could have done differently,
perhaps, should have done differently,
but I didn't, so I dwell,
within these walls.
It feels so like a box
marked fragile on the outside.
I'd like to think there's a colorful bow on top,
but most likely the decor reads;
Return to Sender - Damaged Goods.
Am I a gift, or a pitiful broken trinket
no one can find use for anymore?
These four walls hold no answers,
only open ended questions
and boundaries built from pieces of me.