Wood and Porcelain

Wood and Porcelain
Body of porcelain
And translucent skin
Wrists paper thin
Can be smashed
And be cracked
A shatterable figure that stands too close
To the edge
To a fall
I, a stick figure, made skinny by despair, am
Perfect fuel for a fire
Cracking and dry
Attempting to avoid emotional upheaval
And thus, trying to be drained of feelings
But desiccated bush burns easily
Too sensitive
Too easily hurt
A harsh blow, a harsh cut can come from a single word
Cut me down, and cut down my dreams
From dying trees reluctant, but ready to be uprooted
Cut me down
I am of wood and porcelain
Simultaneously fragile and strong
An odd mix of mismatched materials
And unsure of how to continue on

(How do I? How does one truly live?)


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