Made of clay

 

I'm not made of clay.

You can't mould me

in your hands,

shape me a certain way.

You don't get that right.

My life is my life.

 

I'm not made of clay,

not some soulless

lump of putty,

that you can knead

and tear bits away.

I'm not made of clay,

dragged from the earth

into the cold light of day.

I'm not made of clay

So, you don't

get to sculpture me

into your sad vision.

A faceless,

voiceless shape,

that you can

just bring out to play.

 

I'm not made of clay.

You can't take my heart

and turn it

into some pottery

to discard another day.

You don't get to

make me,

shape me,

break me.

I'm not made of clay.

So, don't try

to make me that way.

 

I'm not made of clay.

I'm flesh and bone,

heart and soul,

muscle and fat,

good and bad.

I'm not a vase,

or an ashtray

that you can

put on display.

 

 

Thanks for reading

Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"

100+ all new poems not shared here before.

https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle