Painted Porcelain

Child

Your face holds expressions
Leftover from the tale ends of their arguments
With your name of broken records
Plastered firmly onto the last word spoken

As much as you wish you could

Don’t get used to it
Because you never will
You will continue to cringe from their nail-to-chalkboard voices every time
So hide
Shut out the world
Just like you’ve already taught yourself how
 
Wear that face until people assume your life
No one will understand you anyways
Painted porcelain that once coveted your skin in diamond flesh
Will chip away
But repaint it
Every year
Until residue of past is hidden beneath the layers
Blanketing your scars with counterfeit apathy
 
They will never cease to scrutinize you
Their fingers
Tapping on mahogany tabletops like silent enigmas
Awaiting constant revenue of lingering smiles too wide for your honesty
 
You’ve always been like broken French Italian demitasse
Beautiful
Detailed
Delicate
Now simply just another mess to clean up

So find yourself

In the wreckage
Of anger-induced declarations passive aggressively flung to the wall
That shudders
Craving the ability to turn itself inside out
To avoid the inflicted destruction
 
You’ve become one with the wall
 
So, young child
Sleep with your ears closed
And your mind wide open
So that the biting resonance from their acidic screams
Will defer from entering into your distant dreams
That catch fragments of idealistic childhoods in mesh-nets like fireflies
 
Inconspicuously
You’ve been taught not to love with freedom
And you’ve learned
That you will endure whiplashes of constant loneliness
Because eventually
Everyone you think you love will always leave you
 
Remember
That you will never be as perfect as they wish you were
Significance is a daily visitor
Pain is your nightly friend
Mistakes are not allowed
And you will always be a glass window away from happiness
 
So go forth
To your pit hole of estranged darkness
And wait for your dehydrated tear ducts to form rain clouds
Accumulated forms of madness
Erratically filtered with pandemonium
They say
Depression is nothing more than perspective
 
So conceal it
Embed it underneath your paper skin like a secret
It will make you itch
But don’t scratch it
It will fester
But don’t medicate it
Because they will only tell you
That you can fix yourself