The Vessel

This vessel does not fit. It has wrinkles and the seams do not lay flat.

This vessel is nothing but iron bars. The connection I have to it is inseverable if I wish to be but must be sliced apart if I am to be truly seen.

I seek to alter it, to make it conform. I find new flaws daily.

All around me, I am faced with reminders of its shortcomings. Too narrow, too broad, too soft, too firm.

I feel like screaming but to scream is to utilize it.

Beauty is my goal and object of contention. It taunts me and dances away from my fingertips.

I hate the idea of beauty. It is what condemns me to suffer, to lie in self-hatred.

Why should I seek to alter the vessel that carries me simply to please its audience? I must live here, and I must seek peace within its walls.

Yet I am unable to love her. I wish to cut her apart, to set myself free.