clay

I am not fucking clay

you cannot mold me to your liking

please,

don’t even touch me.

I want to form myself,

but I need to break free.

Being tugged every which way,

is making me uneasy.

I need to figure this out,

or else I will dry out,

turn into dust,

and never be the same.

So I will be some abstract pottery.

And now it’s time┬áto go into the kiln,

and then be glazed,

and let myself shine.

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