i am not a diamond with a fatal flaw
i hold no fire
No awe or mystery has been brought to light by blood
in me
i am not finely carved and polished wood
i do not mull my scars
The burns have not been caked by thoughts of time
i am not green
i am not gold
not plastic (i think)
not sound nor shriek
not a breeze
not paint or clay
i am porcelain
Cold that contains warmth
memory and reservation
i have cracks that never change