malleable

I wish I was made of clay.

Some days I could reduce myself 

To a pile of potential

That I don't want to seize yet.

Be the lump of nothingness

That I dream of falling back to

Feel the comforting, 

Stinging claws of being unknown. 

Unknowable. 

Other days I could violently,

Cathartically rip myself apart

Destroying myself knowing

It will hurt, and

I can put myself back together

Better, stronger,

More myself. 

And other times I could work myself 

Like a piece of art

Worship myself, the craftsman

And the masterpiece.