you tell me to swallow my pride
but i have none to swallow,
you tell me i need to watch what i eat anyways
you tell me to swallow my pride
but there's no ounce of it left to my name
you've stripped me down to a body to mold,
clay in your hands and i'm slipping
out and down
spiraling
how can i be pretty in pink
when my skin is grey and cracked?
i am an old porcelain doll,
unwanted and breaking
will you hide me on the back of the shelf
if you can't fix me?
would you dare hide me away?
let dust in through my cracks,
creaks to fill up my bones
and lock me into place?
how ugly of you.
you tell me i am fine,
i have never looked better
because fragile is dainty and beautiful
and the more breakable i look
the more wanted
i am
when the breeze of my jumps knocks me over,
will i finally fall with the grace you desire?
the flame will always burn out.
no passion to bury myself into,
no drive to go on "just one more time,"
no spite to relight the flame
with the smoke of your words
i have never been pretty in pink,
and i have never been dainty,
and i have never been a clay doll
spinning, smiling, soaring,
so gentle and dainty in your hands,
beautiful
perhaps too gentle,
i'm held, and held, and held, until–
YOU ARE READING
fascinatingly fatal
Poetryi will squeeze my eyes so tight i won't see your evil, i will cover my ears and i will not hear your evil, and i will sew my mouth shut and you will never hear my evil again.
