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I am but a piece of clay
Unmolded and unperfect.
With the slightest touch,
An image of your reject.
I stand still and allow you,
A vision in your eyes.
To see what could become,
Of this clay you despise.
Ever-changing thoughts and minds,
Making me your desire.
To only fail and frustrate,
Hesitating the fire.
Of all the molds and changes,
Attempts made on me.
I have decided, this mound of clay is perfect.
Untouched and free.
~Tabatha 1200
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