I am not porcelain,
your touch will not break me.
But the tumble
from a glass throne
will shatter parts of me
you can only see
during the fall.
I am not porcelain,
I will not crack
when a single breath
hits my skin.
But I sit on a kingdom
stitched together
with broken beads
and ripped promises,
a lifeline reliant
on how you treat me.
I am not fragile,
but the stage I perform is
and I’m tired of
pulling splinters
from my feet.