Misfit

The world would have been a better place
If only you saw beyond this layer of wax that I am dripping in,
If only you knew that I was burning and melting away,
If only you would not try to put me back in shape.

Someone’s put me on fire, and I’ve been burning ever since.
The cremains that I leave behind,
The ash that flies,
Abandoned and forsaken like an old raggedy doll,
To be poured into the vessels of your name.

Vessels echoing like the sound of a wind chime,
Tinkling like bells, filling up the rooms with songs unknown;
But it’s only when I took a closer look
Did I know that these are empty and hollow and void.
And all this while, I have been muddled into something so empty as a coxcomb.

Perhaps I have proven to be misfit;
A scissor that can’t cut straight,
A fruit that doesn’t taste sweet,
A pen that can’t write swift,
And a wind that a ship can’t drift.