I am poured from your hands like heated glass,
not quiet a liquid not yet solid.
Your hands move over me, smoothing me out,
making me what you want me to be.
I make no choice, I remain only yours.
You are the creator,
I am but your creation.
You'll set me aside, watch me.
This angle and that.
Twist me, break me
melt me back down and start again.
Each time your hands smooth out flaws.
But each time I am weaker.
Cracks will show within
You make a perfect circle around me,
a witch ball of colors and styles.
Inside I am trapped into what you want me to be.
Still your hands smooth.
Until the glass breaks,
and I fall to the floor,
free of your smoothing hands,
free of what you want,
I am flawed and disconnected,
But I am my own
