If I Were Made of Porcelain

If I were made of porcelain
you’d only call me weak
But if I become pure concrete
you’d still name my color bleak

When I thought I’d be enough
you changed its definition
You fed me opium before
laughing at my addiction

Now I gaze up — skies open
stars infinitely away
I create constellations, and
way find on my own accord

You keep selling solutions for
all problems you create
One can always accumulate more
yet never finding peace

— Winson Shuen

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