New.

Sometimes I feel that I am held together

By poor stitches I did when I was seven

and one little cut on my back

is going to make me fall to pieces

onto the ground where I will seep red

and become meat with no ideas.

I feel I've been sanded down,

until I'm smooth and shiny,

where people can believe I'm still new.

Arm outstretched, fingers folded three,

reaching out to plead to the star written sky,

take me away from his wretched thing.

i just don't understand how

I am consistently good

when all I get in return is bad.