At times I feel like a hollow shell
set carefully upon a shelf.
My smooth exterior (strong in design)
belies my fragile self.
My rounded base is insecure:
a sigh is all it would take
to set me rocking back and forth,
then fall and crack or break.
There'd be no innards to spill out,
no Royal Men nor Horses.
Fragmented beyond repair, I'd just
be lying there in pieces.
Share This Poem
This Poems Story
At the time I wrote this poem, I was a young mother and spouse of a government official. I was in obvious turmoil and yet the poem poured out of me during one of my early-morning writing sesions. I might not have been able to articullate my feeling overwhelemed or as though I were in pieces, but I can look back now to that particular emotion. PerhapsI thought I would have "no innards" because I had blown them on the poem! I think it would take more than just a sign to knock me over now.