I am fragile as glass, fragile as silk. You could but look at me And I might crumble, a sculpture made of sugar. And yet I have stripped away the layers of myself Going on, always going on Trusting you To foolishness, to distraction, (to destruction?)
And I keep on shedding my disguises. I keep tearing them down Each after each and /oh!/ I am so small inside, The universe pressed into a pebble And trembling with its unresolved might. And what if you touch me And I shatter? And what if you touch me And find I'm not what you were hoping You would hold in your palm? (And what if You recoil And don't touch me at all?)
What if My shivering gravity Meets your soft light And muddies it somehow, makes it less?
Sometimes I fear I am Untouchable By nature. At once delicate (the way a butterfly's wing will crumple and wilt If your fingers touch it) And devastating, For there is so MUCH in here So much that wants out.
So much that /bends/ toward you when you come too close Like glass heated to smooth billows Where once it was sharp and brittle (and will be Again.) Don't you see? You could take me in your hands and shape me, Make me different forever, And walk away to leave me cold and cutting again. You could, And I would leave such burns on your palms And you would create Such edges in me Such fingerprints Such caverns of space where the light gets in and won't leave, trapped and pressing and empty, Unfillable. You could do all of that. And I could let you. And I could let you close, knowing this And... I /do/ I do and it amazes me. I do, I tear off my many masks with eager hands And smash them at your feet. And I don't know Why.