The clay figurine molded by her past.
Chipped away by deceit and deception.
Only to be collectively put back by love and strength.
Molding, and growing.
Gaining strength, compassion, but a lasting fear it won't last.
Always remembering being chipped away long ago.
Turning neurotic, a bit psychotic.
But holding on.
Ever molding.
Ever growing.
The Clay Figurine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well conceived and nicely brought forth with insight. Thanks for sharing Leslie.