While I pick at this mold I’m asked
What do you want to be
A fluffy cloud?
Nah, it’s too late
A pipe?
Nah, my arms are growing tired.
Well what do you want to be?
I wish to remain shapeless
without form
not caste in a womb and fired in a kiln
I wish to remain a moist slab watered daily
easily used as a bowl
then a cup
or kneaded to comfort
but no I do not wish to be a temporary choice
made stationary
-Saschia Johnson
Wow. Beautiful poem.
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Thank you 😀
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Um damn… “but no I do not wish to be a temporary choice / made stationary” those two lines hit me sooooo hard.
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lol that reaction is why I write. i’m so glad you liked it. 😀
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