Paper Dolls

oh
my
audacity

to make things out of paper,
these fragile chains of letters
and figures which I hold up,
in front of the class,
like a make-believe accordion
but I refuse to play for you.

oh
my
ego

to assume a trifle of lace,
rhetoric, perhaps cotton
is worth your two cents of attention
or worse, could be an article
of talent.
thought-provoking,
unique.

oh
my
hubris

to feel spurred to create
but not creator enough
to confess the poor things I make.
too godless to look to see
if my clay men walk for fear
you'll shit on my face.

I never know if I'm sorry my paper dolls don't dance,
or if I'm sorry they do.

I apologize
for apologizing
for attempting
to fail.