Tugged, pulled, thrown, shaped, encouraged
These are the things we are simple clay, our
Life only but a moment, yet we spin and toil
And the hands shape us, turning us slower,
Faster and sometimes throwing, breaking,
Remaking us and we groan and fight the
Molds and the hands which would hold us
Forming all the time as we struggle to be
Free and sometimes not wanting to live into
The shape we truly are, denying ourselves
Yet the hands stay near, always willing to
Create when we surrender to their touch
Loving who we truly are and feel the
Gentle tugs that shape us into being