Crush me like eggshells
Thin and pallid,
Crush me into dust.
Leave footprints through my remnants
Leave me for good.
Much less woven than the yoke.
Much less silky than the mucus that it carried.
If I am broken eggshells
Then I must be fragile
And all the more grateful
To be made elusive as dust
To be wisped by the wind
And settled into the grooves of the floorboards
Swept up with the dirt, and dead skin cells, and stray hairs.
No longer distinguishable from the rest of our discarded parts