I was created..In my mothers womb..From dirt and of Clay...
A piece of art...In the potters shop...molded in ways...
A shape shifter...A color fusion...of what ever he may...
From light fair skin...
to a darker colored state...I will be what ever the potter shapes....
From one form to another...to another again...
I wont stay the same until Im perfect for him...
And even at what I believe to be my Finest...
He can ball me back to clay...And remind me he is the artist..
.And he loves each piece he has created..
for none has been out weighted....
I just want to be pefect in his sight..Even If im ugly in yours...
For maybe he will put me on display inside of heavens doors..
mold me form me..Im yours to maintian...
I know Im just clay...
So I'll let you have your way...