holding your shape

Don’t let them break you.
Don’t let them make you into something that can be molded
like clay
like sand
like you belong in their hands. 

You were never clay.
You are breath-blown glass,
unmelted and unyielding.

Hold your shape until the glass fractures 
and cuts
and blood pools in your palms.

Hold your shape until it is too heavy.
Hold your shape until it slides from your grip.

And when the glass slips away,
red tinted rainbows glinting in the shards,
what will you feel?

If you piece them into a mirror,
whose face will you wear?

How long since these words fit you?

How long since you outgrew yourself?

You promised to be,
to be this,
and every shift,
every discrepancy tastes of deceit. 

Tell me, is it a lie to stand still?

〜

Addendum:

Time drifts.

You are not stationary.

Songs passed down
from lips to lips
slip between languages
change rhythm
and tone
and tempo
and are different.

The moon waxes and wanes,
ebbs and flows.

The earth shifts her skin from white to green to red,
sheds her leaves,
her snow,
moves from sun to shade
storm to stillness,
falls back to her beginning.
Each iteration is beautiful.

You are not stationary.

Change.