I mold like clay
in your rough calloused hands
and you shape me
with drunk eyes and fingertips
that **** my sensitive skin
like knives

The snow plants kisses
to the cloudy glass windows
that confine us together
and I tremble with the fear
of being carved
into something I never planned
or wanted to be

My stomach shrinks
and my spine curves
from the harsh conditions
of your malicious mind
that pushes me further
and further
into depths of myself
I never knew
existed

I am hazy over the idea
that once I was strong
and maybe even the kind of beautiful
that blooms flowers
and jumpstarts heartbeats
and makes the world
close its rueful eyes
even just for a little while

You are an artist
with a clear goal and path
and I hope to god
you let me dry out
for I am not
shiny and mesmerizing
like the ceramics that
populate your dusty shelves

I’ve been molded and shaped
and framed and built
by those coarse and icy hands
so that I am no longer what I used to be
but rather a blurry and ugly version
that makes my head
whirl like the blizzard outside of my
window