Clay

I am but clay
              molded.
Each occurrence a new dent
         in my previously formless being.

Just as a tree changes with age,
              I find myself practically unrecognizable
Slightly different at the end of each day
                             by each struggle I pass
                                          hurdle I jump
                                   and mountain I climb.

I am the same in many ways
             same eyes
                      that see differently
             same ears
                      new sounds;
             same lines in my face
                      but they have made new friends,
etched in my skin with each laugh
                                           cry
                                           smile.
And though I am reminiscent,
                          familiar,


I am clay,
shaped ever so slightly,
into a new creation.