Anesidora

Wisps of inhumanity carve out spiteful words into my earthen insides; carefully clawing to the top of my neck. My seal is mangled and unkempt but it withholds the travesties that lie within and, for that, I am grateful. Her inquisitive eyes pry at my seams then pluck at them like petals; for now she is content to guess. To wonder, to crave of what lies inside--an ill-fated gift placed into cruel and longing palms.

I struggle to cry out to her, as trembling and naïve hands manage to place fragile fingertips upon my surface, “No, Pandora! Don't!”