My clay was hardened too early
Blood tainted with oil and slick
If God made me in his image
Why craft a sinner

If not to expose the hole shaped like me between his stars
The space that doesn't fit a righteous hand

A shell to remind himself that not all gaps are unholy
My pride fills the spaces on shelves burdened with forgotten importance

There is a space for me in his image
He did not make me to be quiet
But silently I fill the void
As intended