I Blame

I blame the paints,

I am not the one splattered on the canvas,

I blame the canvas -- I am not cotton,

Yet when placed in water,

I dissolve and float away.

My being is unmoored,

A masochistic stitch -

Of flesh and bones,

A painstakingly moulded clay pot,

That has fallen down the shelf,

A handmade mug,

Thrown, in a fit of anger,

A thorny bush-

With lemons to justify,

For others to pick,

Only to get pricked