I chose to be porcelain.
   (It's pretty.)
People hold you up to look all around.
   (Oh! How pretty!)
You don't get to choose it but
your design will be stunning.
Good enough to pull their eyes
from the inside your craftsman forgot.
Someone else's half-finished thoughts
marking you forever.

I chose him, too.
   (You're pretty.)
Entranced, lost in my designs,
he poured in me a rich, sweet cream.
The richest half and half
pretending to make me whole.