Clay Poem by Scott Class

You can not mold me and treat me this way.
I'm no longer your puppet or made out of clay.

My skin is alive and my feelings are real.
You've broken my heart and for that theres no pill.

You always have to be right and your never wrong.
I should turn my heartache into a sad country song.

Nobody would listen, especially not you.
why should I care, but for some reason I do.

There's no end in sight of this pain my heart holds.
She says she loves me yet treats me so cold.

Now when the phone rings, I let go to voicemail.
I know its just her and she wants to yell.

Now the buck stops here and she can be cold,
Because I am not clay and will not mold!