My voice is a bell with the mallet torn out.
I sway back and forth
praying, hoping that a stone
will fall and jump off my bones
my structure, the remaining clay.

My freedom is restricted and is used
to taunt me, provoke
like a mirror.
Oh, to be on the reflecting side,
on the outside looking in.
Being able to back away
not felling like a pearl being
sucked into a black whole