Mold me
like ceramics
fingertips carving into cold clay.
Anything is possible.
Mold me
like a story
words creating the view my eyes see.
Highlighting the blues
and forgetting the rays of sunlight.
Mold me
like an opinion
an experience dictating choices,
I haven’t made yet.
Sweet wisdom
passed down
from generation to generation.
Mold me
like a bird
who didn’t know
that once it jumped
it would never taste
such thin air ever again.
Scars are beautiful.
Not all of them
look the same.
Mold me
like a dress
beautiful to the eye
and silenced until chosen
and danced in.
Stand for something
worth speaking up,
to dance the night away, and sacrifice face value.
Mold me
like a teacher
give material, a mess
let the meaning appear on its own.
A needle in a haystack, I’m the needle.
Mold me
like creativity influences art.
Just don’t count the times I’ve pricked you.
I promise you I’m worth the blood lost.
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