The egg and me

Ivy Madara

I hate the egg:

So smooth and fragile
A wondrous elliptical figure
Inviting breakage and enticing prying
You're dying to see what's inside
And you'll never know what you'll find.

When cracked,
the shell, previously valued,
becomes forgotten.
It's as though it never existed.

If the inside is acceptable,
it's used for a benefit,
cherished for it's substance,
but it remains use and forgotten.

Once the interior is displeasing,
everything is discarded.
The interior taints the exterior.
All bad; they both cease to exist.

And if they don't,
the memory leaves a bitter taste,
prompts a foul string of words,
leaves a line of disgust at its wake.

I hate the egg,
Because it reminds me so much of me.

  • Author: Ivy Madara (Offline Offline)
  • Published: March 22nd, 2022 02:03
  • Comment from author about the poem: This poem is an expression of how all my life I've been feeling temporary, judged and used. Just like the egg, I'm only worth one crack; one test of strength, before I'm left alone and forgotten or simply, predisposed as rotten before I'm known. It felt great to express myself. -Ivy
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 40
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Comments2

  • JAYSON2022

    Oh this poem is sad and I appreciate this the way I read I remember my childhood experience like a egg great job

    • Ivy Madara

      I'm very sorry you can relate to the emotions in this poem. But I'm glad at the same time that you could dissolve yourself in my own experience. It doesn't last forever.
      -Ivy❤️

    • L. B. Mek

      well I hope
      that symbolic image of you as an egg
      can one day, evolve
      in-to a Chocolate egg
      and even then, if you still find cracks
      in your surface
      or those sudden monsoon's of life
      have you thinking
      you'll end-up melting, then
      trust, that
      if you find a way to cultivate
      an egg shape mould
      to cocoon yourself, within
      through the worst of life, then
      when, that oppressive tomorrow
      becomes your yesterday
      and your life's
      monsoon heated, teardrop wetness
      is exchanged for a dawning
      of Spring's, crisp smiling morning
      you'll still be back
      in your chocolate egg, shape
      maybe a little dented and jagged
      but still that sweet egg
      everyone, will want a piece of...

      • Ivy Madara

        Thank you so so much for this, another perspective to see myself in. I feel seen in a way I usually don't thanks to MPS



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