Petite Tears

such a little thing
my handsome face,
a quietude when I pass by
oh, such a fuss did I create
in all the human kind.
their big brute hands all clenched
grotesque, I gave them masks
to rim their eyes,
disguise their cheeks
and garments which they'd curl their claws
to touch and sense again.
i was their very special friend
that i knew not
when then they pricked me
with all my numbest parts
in sewing needles, skimmed me thin
and broke my dainty heart.
struck me in a tiny box
where i longed to stretch my minor hands,
to stitch on human skin.
but all i'd scratch to itch the lock
so small, small me cannot fit through
and patch the cloth where i am not.
yet for long years inside my case
i do not weep, or rail, or hate,
but wait and sleep, and dream of art
i am yet too small to make.