I am fragile as glass, fragile as silk.
You could but look at me
And I might crumble, a sculpture made of sugar.
And yet I have stripped away the layers of myself
Going on, always going on
Trusting you
To foolishness, to distraction, (to destruction?)
And I keep on shedding my disguises.
I keep tearing them down
Each after each and /oh!/
I am so small inside,
The universe pressed into a pebble
And trembling with its unresolved might.
And what if you touch me
And I shatter?
And what if you touch me
And find I'm not what you were hoping
You would hold in your palm?
(And what if
You recoil
And don't touch me at all?)
What if
My shivering gravity
Meets your soft light
And muddies it somehow, makes it less?
Sometimes I fear I am
Untouchable
By nature.
At once delicate
(the way a butterfly's wing will crumple and wilt
If your fingers touch it)
And devastating,
For there is so MUCH in here
So much that wants out.
So much that /bends/ toward you when you come too close
Like glass heated to smooth billows
Where once it was sharp and brittle
(and will be
Again.)
Don't you see?
You could take me in your hands and shape me,
Make me different forever,
And walk away to leave me cold and cutting again.
You could,
And I would leave such burns on your palms
And you would create
Such edges in me
Such fingerprints
Such caverns of space where the light gets in and won't leave, trapped and pressing and empty,
Unfillable.
You could do all of that.
And I could let you.
And I could let you close, knowing this
And... I /do/
I do and it amazes me.
I do, I tear off my many masks with eager hands
And smash them at your feet.
And I don't know
Why.
