The smell of earth
and moist clay,
kissing my senses
with a rose-petal feeling.


Sweat on my brow,
dirt on my cheek,
and soiled hands,
I live for this.


Molding,
pinching,
smoothening.
The imperfections
make you perfect.


Into the kiln,
and out.
Awake, creation of mine,
step out into the world.


I have molded you,
and formed you
with my own hands.


I know
your every little flaw.
Your strengths
and weaknesses.


I made you with care.
I designed you for a purpose,
a reason,
a calling.


I am the Potter,
and you are the clay.
You are the work of my hands.
Live like it.


Do not question me,
for you are exactly as I want you.
Do not look down on yourself,
you are mine and I love you.


Do not doubt.
I am not finished.
I am the Potter.
You are the clay.
You are mine and,
I love you.