I’m feeling a little hollow
Knock, and you’ll hear an echo
Lean too hard and I’ll crumble Concealed,
Afraid to speak
Afraid to move
Afraid to uncurl my fingers
And take up any more space than the one Between my skin and my bones
My toes and my scalp

So, I have emptied myself out 
Served it on a plate
Hidden away in the shell 
Which has become my home. 

I would like a new one, sometimes, But by the time I reach back
For the meal I prepared
It’s too late.

You’ve had your feast.

by Joanna Woznicka

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