Woman Of Clay 

In this borrowed skin, where dreams are thin and frail,

A stranger's gaze from my reflection's face,

I walk the line, for fear that I will fail.

Your hands, they build me up, Just to break me down,

I cannot prevail in love’s relentless chase,

I am but a mannequin, Gagged and bound.

Each step I take, feels like a foreign trail,

A masquerade where truth cannot embrace,

You dig my grave, seal it shut with nails.

Your words, like threads, weave through an unseen veil,

A Crosstitch of shoulds I can't erase,

I walk a tight rope, yet still, I fail.

All is empty in this living hell,

The ghost of me, confined without a space,

Will I ever find the keys to unlock this cell?

So hold me in your hands like Clay,

Since, to you, I am but a mold.

Just go easy, so I don’t fray,

And please, leave alone my broken soul.

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