Was I ever a stone or a shelf or a statue? I'd be lying if I said I ever was.
I've only ever been a shell. A missing scrap. A broken sentence.
I never could measure up though I had no reason to fall shorter,
never could keep it steady in the absence of earthquakes,
never could be the right kind of daughter.
No, I made those disasters for myself, and I made other people worry.
I made my own wreckage and don't know how to properly say I'm sorry.
Was I ever a butterfly emerging from its cocoon? I'd be lying if I said I ever was
anything other than a moth, circling a lightbulb,
electric shocks beaten in the hum of frantic wings.
I wish you could throw your coats on me, I wish you could trust my topography,
I am too afraid- frightened of a world I can only imagine having to face me.
I wish I didn't have to so wholeheartedly agree with the suggestion to replace me.
