I have galaxies living inside me. Stop trying to contain me in a box, limiting my existence in a piece of cardboard meant to hold objects, not people. I will annihilate that box if you try to fix me inside. I am a universe. Supernovas continuously erupt within the confines of my mind, emitting a burning sensation and springing forth a plethora of fiery colors. Constellations line the silhouette of my body, the curve of my spine, the outline of my lips, and the creases on my palms. I have stars shining in shadowed corners of me. Planets rapidly spin somewhere between my lungs and heart, and their gases are my exhales. I am breathing in oxygen and breathing out poisonous gases, so beware of me too. I do not just have dimly lit moons or bright sequestered suns that shed light for you. I have black holes in me. You can find them in my eyes from time to time. Maybe you can even see them from my body; the dark bruises showing on pale skin. I have all these things living inside me. I am more than something you shove into a standard box.