I am forged in a ceramic kiln, and the sweltering heat embrittles me. their withering stares set the kiln ablaze, expecting me to stay rigid and brittle. I attempted to constrict and be good, but the fire slowly cracked me. the heat still scorches my pieces, but each piece inches closer to the outskirts of the kiln so I can find the sticky glue and put myself back together.
Escapril Day 20! Prompt: trying to be good. I had a few ideas for this poem, but I wanted to use one major theme. I hope you enjoy this one! I loved writing it.