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.