I am become metaphor

I carry the clay pot

but it shatters in my arms,

spilling water everywhere

That is illusion becoming reality

Telling us, You cannot hold onto me

Myself, I transform to elude you

I fold my hand, sure of the others’ cards

Only to find I held the winners all along

if only… but there are no second chances

and I have not won when I have not risked the loss

Favoritism dances before me like a slick wire

skewering the best cuts of meat for the grill

I sit quietly ignored on the platter,

raw and undigestible

wishing to join my sisters in the fire

All the time I whither, stranded like a blossom on a stem

With hopes the wind will come in time to blow

me open, and take my seed to bed in the earth

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