My cold, glass skin

Placed on the stage of a microscope

It doesn’t seem all that scary at first. 

People gather around,

And peer through the looking glass. 

They analyze everything about me

Not one detail goes unnoticed. 

They collect data, and jot down observations

 to be shared later

They pick apart every tiny detail they see.

One mistake.

One simple, wrong move

And everything

Is different. 

I try to maneuver myself to be seen the same, 

But I am no different

Living under the microscope has ruined me,

But I’m still here. 

That small mistake is all they see.

To them, I am ruined

Yet the destruction entertains them.

It creates an audience

More and more people gather 

To observe, and share their opinions

They don’t care about me.

They wash me up, 

And throw me out 

like the rest of them.