Be harder.

So I chiseled a new me from stone.

Like Venus de Milo’s,

but I lacked the capacity to touch,

struggled with the ethos.

So I crafted the hands of a masseuses,

soft to the touch, but firmness was never introduced.

Plucking out my eyes

I hand them to you for a better perspective.

Blindsided now, but sure-footed,

grounded like tree roots,

deep and protected.

I then become unable to move

planted where I thought you’d approve.

Uprooted and loose like change in your pocket.

A penny dropped could be another’s profit.

Hardened now and tarnished like copper.

When all this time…

all you really needed me to be… was softer.

- R. Short