Conchiglie

Every inch of my body feels heavy,
but how can this be so
when I am hollow?
Cast my entirety in plaster
Suck my existence out through a
tiny piercing at the nape: withdraw my
matter into a giant plastic syringe. Dispose of it.
You are left with my shell
I hope that you enjoy it, an item
holding a certain novelty
value, I suppose.
You can paint it if you’d like!
Paint me as you see me, paint my
plaster cast, but try to do me
justice— don’t be hard on me.
Carry around this cast of me, a model
false to life. Take me with you. It is
easier to carry my mould around than carry
me in your heart.

2013.

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