I’m not what you think I am:
No longer the sweet child of old,
No longer soft but still
Extremely insecure.
Neither as pure as you think
Or as I used to be.
Now I’ve been hardened,
Stained by the dust that floats around here.
Hardened I may now be,
But now I’m fragile;
Easily shattered
Even by a kiss.
I’ve become the mirror
In which outsiders
See you reflected.
Hold me too tight,
And I’ll break
Right inside your grip.
But me too lose,
And I’ll slip,
Slip away and fall,
Destroying myself
And injuring you.
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