I write this anonymously, to a me I don’t know

I hide under porcelain, for the me inside

The seed I never let them see

If I touch from under the clay would they still love me

If I crack the perfect porcelain I have made,

would they Just runway

I wish for the day that they can see, and just be

The hollow is free

Camellia dies quietly, with no one knowing

How can I speak

When no one looks at what is really showing

Porcelain so perfect and fine

But broken, left to die