August 2, 2017
I have come into my own
Dredged through
The swamp
Of the lowest
of my lows
And pulled myself up
To stand erect
Looked back in reflection
And from the muck
Sculpted a self
I can admire
I am the potter and clay,
I am the pot
-that which cannot exist
the gaping hole
at center


Author: She of Letters

Mother, WRITER, artist, dreamer, civil and human rights activist, humanitarian, sentient being. I write to remember; I write to discover; I write to understand.

2 thoughts on “Pottery”

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