Feb 3, 2011

Some days I feel like misshapen clay
A child’s inept attempt at sculpting a shoddy piece of pottery
I crack in the glaze phase never attain proper consistency
Clearly covered in artisan fingerprints that were poorly masked
I live a lifetime as a bowl, barely holding water
Raising as my own planted seeds who grow too big for me
As trees
I occupy a dusty desktop where I am keeper of an arsenal
Of pens
Enveloped in now-dried pigment from early school art class
One day, I am accidentally elbowed off of the kitchen counter
And fall to the floor
Shatter into fragments
Bits and morsels
Chunks and crumbs
Shards of misshapen clay

To comment on this poem, please log in or create a free account
Log in or register to comment