I am a ceramic work of art.
Fragile if you drop me,
I am not unbreakable,

raised from a clump of clay
raised from nearly nothing.
Careful hands centered me on earth’s spinning wheel,

pulled and pushed,
beveled and cut,
formed and then detached.

Childhood carved out the rough edges.
Slip slides down plastic walls,
blemish free.

Put through society’s fire, I
came out  the other side
hard, changed, and different.

Painted with character.
Liquid glass covered my bare bisque ware,
then put through another fire.

This one was different.
It was difficult
but I came out better than before.