| mold_me | ||
| Jevad |
you. the potter, the artist, you control me. and i-- the misshapen ball of clay, i always feel awkward in your presence for you are a class above me and i, seemingly waiting for you to mold me-- for i cave at your touch. and with every touch of your hand i mold myself to you, and i become more intricate; more beautiful. and i long for the day when i can be a permanent possession among your ensemble but you, the perfectionist, easily become frustrated with my indecisive ways and soon the beauty that i once held is crushed upon the table. never good enough. and all i wanted was for you to seal me with your mark, to have you impression yourself upon me, for you to claim me as your own. but you are finished with me. i am too much for you to handle. |
020714 |