Perhaps the artist carved you with fingers of water,
or maybe the salt slipped into your skin to wear your face away.
The clam inside your body must have been cold,
shivering from the holes in your bones.
You tattooed a flower on your forehead to prove that you were best.
Now the color fades from your eyes and you look at the ocean as a mother,
but it didn't make you. No one made you, except for me.
No one shattered your other half, save my hands alone.
Don't fall to pieces again after I spent so long gluing you back together.
You were made to look like stars.
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