Plastic

I beg thee

do not force bend

a hard soul like me.

Dearest,

What are you made of?

There

were days

I watch many people

of a more softly core -

Plastic;

time-befriending, usage-changing,

mold-complying, quietly-listening,

coat-accepting, color-adjusting,

resilient.

Then there

were nights I watch

as myself unwind and unfold.

Do you, dearest, ever dare ask

whether you are wearing a mask?

Not able to answer,

then emerge my interrogative:

Who am I?

I intently listen

tick tock tick tock

many moons float by

all my senses are ears

I,

hey

hush

shush,

am you

the voice

inside thee.

Thou art alive,

why take worry

aren’t thou free?

I look quietly

“Plastic, maybe

but of what kind?”

but oh dear,

what lies inside me

is not like a plastic, I see.

I touch it

my fingertips bleed!

My good question arrives:

how do plastic stab fingers?

I knock at it

the sound echoes!

My wonder appears:

how do plastic reflect sounds?

I caress it

how cold to the touch!

Can’t be warmed by fire -

How odd is this plastic inside me!

Then

only I realize

it is not plastic after all

Fleets

a single word

through my mind

Crystal.

Now, I understand.

Now, I accept.

Now, I handle with care.

Maybe you are a crystal too?

Or a wood?

It's alright what you're made of

it's what you leave behind that counts.

Dearest,

What are you made of?

but I beg thee

do not force bend

a hard soul like me.


-sheilla kho