deepundergroundpoetry.com
Persona of Clay
Bent and shrunken, this persona of clay I live with,
moulded by the hands of someone else’s words,
slowly erasing the contours of my every lineament.
Flawed and broken, this reflection of porcelain I wake up to,
a product born of another’s seed,
losing shape to their kneading hands.
I am nothing more than mere pottery,
beaten and rolled,
hammered and crafted,
stamped and fabricated,
to be of them.
moulded by the hands of someone else’s words,
slowly erasing the contours of my every lineament.
Flawed and broken, this reflection of porcelain I wake up to,
a product born of another’s seed,
losing shape to their kneading hands.
I am nothing more than mere pottery,
beaten and rolled,
hammered and crafted,
stamped and fabricated,
to be of them.
Published 19th Mar 2025
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