I am a sieve

Burdened with many holes.
Millions of breakage strewn throughout my body showing unguarded ways into my soul.
Burdened with many holes, I am a sieve.

Holding water doesn't stay, falling right through when I need it most.
Round and hollow, waiting for dimension to unfold, I shape and form as time seeps through.

What I am given that most becomes the moment, just falls through.
What is least usable sticks to the edges of my holes and takes shape, forming smaller holes until I no longer have space to see.  So now sunlight cannot shine through but in tiny beads that barely break the surface, letting water sit by itself until it is sour.

Everything is affected as a result of this.  Like unclear pieces of an image, specks of noise and thoughts filter through in some angry blur with no tail end, no finishing story.  Chaos fills up around me and I search for still because I have no way of keeping everything out.
I end up searching my bowl for the end, trying to create the rest of the story myself, all in my mind's eye, from scratch and bits floating haphazardly through my holes.  But it's not possible because it is all in pieces that do not connect.

It would be nice to be a different shape, another tool with better edges, but alas I am a sieve.
I seek something clean.  Something not broken into pieces but whole and smooth.
Open-ended and soft.  Something that makes sense all the way from start to finish without my mind interfering.

©11/26/11DanyaMosgofian