Clay Project
I look in the mirror
at the lines on my forehead,
the crow’s-feet developing around my eyes,
imprints of yesteryear.
Experiences.
The woman staring back at me
remembers being molded in this fashion,
shaping herself around the physical.
Worries of yesteryear…
now trivial.
Amidst the pains of a troubled world,
the physical attributes seem silly now,
in a life so temporal.
Mixed with a bit of dust and water,
I am nothing but a clay project.
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