A figure of clay,
moldable,
bendable,
changeable,
a frame of wire for bone,
helping us stand and be supported.

We're all made of clay,
we're all grayed and soft figures,
we don't dry because of the showers we take.

Fat clay,
short clay,
tall clay,
skinny clay.

We're all made of clay,
our appearence can always change.

I too am clay,
I am tall clay,
I'm told I'm skinny clay.

Too skinny.

But the clay feels so heavy,
it dosn't look right to me.

I am clay.
I don't need to eat,
so I don't,
and I feel no hunger.

So I don't look right,
I am clay,
I can mold myself,
and I tear the clay off me.

Now I'm perfect.
I feel so light,
I'm nothing more than wire with clay here and there.
I'm nothing more than skin and bones,
nothing more than skin and bones,
skin and bones.

Tweet

Comments on this poem/writing:

Click here to read other Poems by Sax

Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

COPYRIGHT NOTICE: All Rights Reserved.   No part of this website, including all pictures and written words,  may be reproduced or copied in any manner from this website without  permission of the original author of the work.  All poetry and pictures herein remain the sole property of the original author and/or copyright owner.  All poetry on this website has been submitted by the original author of the work. To contact any author of the work please e-mail: dreamer@dreamersreality.com  so the proper person may be notified.