Her words dug at me,
Scraping across my skin like a
Chisel on stone.
I thought I was as
Hard as marble,
But, it seems in her hands, I am as
Soft as clay.
After she completed her work,
I did not recognize the
Face in the mirror.
Chipped away,
I have been
Broken down,
Defeated and
Molded into a pleasing
Compliant form.
Suitable,
Agreeable and lovely on her arm, a
Painted on smile
On display in a
Traveling exhibit of unknown
Duration.
– Written for dVerse Poetics, prompt was “sculpting a poem.” Photo from PublicDomainPictures.net.
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