Sculpting

She wants to know herself

But she’s only seen strangers.

A lump of old clay,

Molded by many hands.

She’s never been the same woman twice

No matter how hard she tries.

A lump of old clay,

Changed a thousand times.

When someone asks her who she is,

She asks, “who do you want me to be?”

Picked apart to make a brand-new thing,

More appealing to you than the last.

She only knows herself

As someone no one wants.

They only want me in their hands

When they’re tearing me apart.