chocolate and tears

I feel like a box of fine chocolates, unopened, in a house full of anorexics,

Politely beckoning them to tear into me, even wanting them to, wanting to feel the pain of being chewed up and spit out only for the illusion of personal gain. But still I remain untouched, unmarked, innocently devastating, naively all knowing. I see them, I watch them from a distance that’s far closer than they think and much more perceptive than they know. They fear me, and what lies beneath my wrappings. Because as alluring and inviting as I may seem I’m the one thing that could destroy them all at the slightest whim, with the least amount of effort and maximum amount of damage. But alas my conscience speaks up and reminds me that my disgust for them is only envy. I hate their fear. I despise not being able to live in a reclusive, non-indulgent state as they do. If only I could be as afraid and cautious as they and search the closets for skeletons and check under the bed for monsters. If only I could sleep with the light on, follow the two- second rule when driving, ignore strangers attempt at conversations and say no to fried foods. But I cant, I don’t and I won’t for that isn’t me that’s only what I wish to be.