A Poem: Clay

you're the gifted sculptor
and he is your prized masterpiece
and you mold him like
you would clay
into the shape of your choosing

you shape away his faults
those little nicks and dents and quirks
that you think mar his face
and you leave what you think is beauty
in their place

it's hard for him to even care to dream
when his desires
are picked away
left to fall to the ground
remnants of aspirations and hope

but you try not to mind how he feels
because you know it's for the better
and you know that one day
he will be your pride and joy
and he will be admired by everyone

you ignore that his smile
grows a little smaller
with each passing day
and how he seems to wilt into himself
like a dying flower

one day your masterpiece is completed
the clay has hardened
and it stands
golden and bright
under the sun

you admire him
and invite everyone
you know
to come and see
what you have created

but your smiling face
soon turns uneasy
when you notice the droplets
of salty water
in his eyes 

and soon you are wailing
because at the touch of your hand 
on the cold statue
it shatters in front of everyone
breaking into a thousand little pieces