by Georgia Panitch
I am a shell.
So precious you want to crush me.
My timid nature and delicacy frustrates you.
Something so fragile makes you angry
that I does not break under your
So smooth you want to lick me.
Your harsh tongue against my silky skin.
So closed and compact you yearn
For the knowledge of what is inside.
Starting from the base, blank and white.
Showing no signs of individuality.
So simple and disconnected you see
Your own reflection in my milky whiteness.
Running your fingers further down
my back, purple.
Deeper, darker, more complex as your finger
explores the sharp, protective violet edges,
So shut it looks purposeful.
As if someone glued me closed.
Silencing me, before I was even given a voice.
Hiding a secret from you, from the world that
unknowing wants to know,
not aware of the power I have over you.
The mystery intrigues you,
you are not sure if it is worth the risk.
This is why the shell hides… knowing is generous
You don’t understand that I’m not yours
to know or attempt to find out.
The shell slides around,
I can’t grab my footing,
too smooth and insecure for my own good.
I am weak on the outside,
my power is held within.
You must hurt me; you need to hurt,
for my own good.
To expose me to the world.
The shell, the girl, needs to be pushed,
prodded with attention.
My flaws on the outside,
instead of safe, hidden within.
Dangerous for me, unpleasant for you.
I’m naked, the girl, the shell, exposed.
Blurring together as one.
Grabbing onto each other, as a dying man would ache for his last breath.
Feeding off the raw, expired, stinking vulnerability.
The smell tickles your nose, forcing you to imagine awful green, oozing substances.
You want to escape,
but the girl, the shell has shared too much, gone to far.
Already addicted to your, now, misguided interest.
I am a shell.