Molding me,
Shaping me,
Making me who I am:
A work in progress.

You are the Potter.
I see your strong hands
Spinning, spinning, spinning on the wheel of life.
Pinching, holding, guiding, molding,
The process is not always one of pleasure.

It hurts,
When you bring me to life,
When you make me into something beautiful,
When I was once a formless lump of clay.
I am smashed, squished, and broken to be made into the vessel that I am.
But I’m grateful that you saw a glimmer of potential hidden within the clay.

I am not perfect.
There are cracks in me that only you could fill,
Dents that only you could mend.
But they give me character and add to my potential
As you continue to spin, spin, spin me on the wheel of life.