Made of Porcelain

I am made of porcelain

I am cracking now and then

A soft breeze blows through lacy white curtains, birds chirp in a sing-song tone with one another.

Her room tidy and clean, as the smell of roses drift in the air from her burning pink candle. A bowl of cherries sit on her bedside table, untouched. She stares into the eyes of her reflection, as it stares right back at her.

Brown almond eyes, with tiny black holes in the center of them. They feel like daggers pointed her way. They're beautiful, but are blind. They blind their holder to the beauty in life, lets her notice little flaws, and forces her to obsess over it, till she chips at her edges.

A strand of brown hair falls on her face, she goes to hide it behind her ears when those traitorous eyes of hers takes notice of her pale wrists. Too small to be hers, but they do as she wishes so they must be hers. She wraps two fingers around it, they don’t touch. A loud crack echoes within her, but it's still silent in the room.

She drops her hands on her lap as she looks up and into the mirror, her nose sticks out. She turns her head to the side as her eyes are glued to the illusion in front of her, she sees the bump on her nose. It's not a pretty one and she’s repulsed by it, wants it gone. She feels weary and bruised like a china teacup with dried out glue.

Scars and lines mark her body and they drown her in a dark and dreary sea. Solace nowhere near. Abhor and hate tying her down deeper.