Masterpiece

Maybe I was meant to be clay,

For The way I let my mother shape my future and my ex lovers mold my self-worth.

Maybe I was meant to be crayon,

For the way I stay within line, cross no bounds,

Don’t upset anyone, don’t make them uncomfortable.

Maybe I was meant to be paint,

For The way I bring color to others’ canvases but never allowed to stick around to see the whole picture.

Maybe I was meant to be glue,

For the way I feel like I’m constantly fighting to keep it together.

But then I met you, and you are no artist.

I ask you to turn me into something beautiful,

You say you already are.

I’ve never been seen as the finished piece,

But you hold no pencils, no erasers.

And you do what we all do in the presence of a masterpiece,

Admire.