A slow elevator and a full panel
Of glowing, numbered buttons—
I wait patiently, tapping my foot,
Smiling cordially as body after
Body enters the slicing doors,
Making it warmer, stuffier. 

My lungs fill slower as itchy

Fabric stands next to me,
(Awkward silence and futile
Attempts at small talk,)
But when my floor finally

Flashes above with a ding,
I cannot make it through
The throng of tentative
Hand gestures and pressed
Bodies—My arm barely slips
Through a gap, and I think
That my fingers will stop
The doors from closing--
But they only jam on my
Bones, crunching the knuckles
Before descending further,
Dragging my broken flesh
And screams lower and lower. 

Only then do the bodies shrink
Back against the walls,
Giving me space to fall to
My knees, gasping at the pain
And the dormant button of the
Floor to my missed exit.

I am not cut out for this—

The child with safety scissors,
Carefully cutting her paper
Snowflake, tongue between

Her teeth, veered too much
From the marked lines--
And now her beautiful creation
Is jagged and scarred, ruining
The Christmas decorations.

I cannot bring myself to overcome
The smiling creature of doubt
Sitting pleasurably in my mind—
His hands rest on his lap,
Teeth on full display as
He watches the darkness
Overcome my expression,
Falter my typing hands,
And end the ambition
I arduously work toward.

I am made of melted steel,
Sitll holding the title
Of something malicious,
Piercing and lethal--
But in a state that is
Defenseless, harmless,
Unable to defend itself
When approached
With something other

Than words.