The Calibration

I am the stone under your hand The shape you think you planned You shave the edges, thin and slight Until I’m translucent in the light A masterclass in slow decay To wash the "wrong" of me away The friction... The heat... The sound of... ...defeat. You pull the thread, you watch it break A cleaner soul for you to take I’m falling through your filter now I’ve forgotten why or how Beneath the blade of your critique The perfect version... ...is the one too weak to speak. Polished skin and hollow bones Built of your judgmental stones Every flaw is scrubbed and scarred Keeping watch and keeping guard CORRECT ME. REPLACE ME. ERASE ME. ERASE ME. Am I enough? Am I enough? Or just the shape of your need? Just the way... ...you need me to be.