Flesh molded into clay into marble.
Words etched on porcelain skin.
Vulnerability chipped; chiseled to bone.
Brittle little fingers ground down into salt.
Voice is given to what lies underneath.
No mysteries, no conceits, no pretense remains.
Be here because you want to be.
(Your not-so-secret secrets are showing.)
You are real.
And your pain is exquisite.
Now suck in your breath and say that’s better.
It’s you, yourself, who is calling.