This Flesh, My Flesh

I am porcelain cracked under years of weather stain
lesser aged than the listless beasts at my feet;
those blemishes which their fur in clever hides.
But tolerable these moles, these freckles, these scars,
to the spider veins who have built a home
on this rugged unpolished terrain
that you lay your cheek in sympathy
for all that could have been;
if I had just drank the milk like I was told.

The Greatest Gift Of All

Give me what you can not see in a jar,
and label it in such a way
that no one understands,
so when they ask
with pensive expressions
what I am holding in my hands,
I can deem my gift 'unique'
and finally mean it.