Answer:
My voice is tender my waist is slender and I'm often invited to play. Yet wherever I go I must take my bow or else I have nothing to say.
I am the kind of a tree that is carried in your hand. What am I?
An open ended barrel I am shaped like a hive. I am filled with the flesh and the flesh is alive.
I suck.
No legs have I to dance, no lungs have I to breathe. No life have I to live or die, and yet I do all three. What am I?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?