He groomed me
as a Faberge painted
in azure, with pearls placed in rows
like lace. Standing in gold

legs, to be looked at. So, as not
to break. But I cracked as mother
hen sat on me. And none put my pieces
back with flattery. With jagged

edges, sharp as swords, I was
***** and dusty like a barnyard
floor. I birthed myself in no
opulence of wealth. Scattered my shell

like raindrops. Flecks of me
on rooftop and trees, blowing
in the breeze. But not to live as
a Faberge'. I'm a scrambled egg.