My body is not marble
It can never be molded into the perfect curves
The artist - you - wish for it to be
It is neither smooth nor unblemished
I am not the Venus de Milo
Not even David
My body is merely clay
A squishy lump of mud
That is what I am
You poke and prod me
Complain about how disgusting I feel
Until you put me in the kiln
And realize I am just as beautiful
But it doesn't matter
Whether I am marble or clay
They are still fragile
Crumbling and shattering at the
End of a very long
Fall
YOU ARE READING
Heal
PoetryPoems written to inspire and comfort. Be it family, friends, or relationships, there is a poem out there that resonates with our indescribable emotions.
