Plaster
I’m no longer quite so malleable;
I cannot be recast.
Who I am is who I will always be,
But the tools of life may resculpt my form,
Shaving off impurities here or there.
It’s taken proper files to whip me into shape;
I’m no longer recognizable at least to myself.
The rough edges that defined me
Have been worn smooth with rubbing.
Experience has chaffed me until I was raw,
But my flaws have been ground away.
The grit of life has made me bleed,
And then sanded away my jagged scars.
Like a stone I’ve been cracked often by hammers,
And those faults were then chiseled and polished
Until they became deep channels
Leading to happier times.
I’ve been stabbed and prodded;
The gaping holes creating a void.
But through this opening in the middle of my life,
I take new perspective on the world.