i am made of paper, and
  i’ve been torn… daily…
  by those trying to shape me
  into the being they would
  like me to be.
yet like an oragami pattern
  too difficult for the weak-willed,
  i have been folded too many
  times… and now my body
  possesses not the strength
  that it used to.
pen and pencil marks mar
  my skin like a multitude of
  mistakes… one for every
  breath of my being.
and though some may say
  i’ve much to live for… there
  are days i stray towards
  fire… that it may light
  me.