A Metaphor

The blank piece of pottery stared back at me.
It was so isolated on that large white shelf.
It reminded me of home and soon became a metaphor for my life.
I don’t know if I would erase those memories of not.
Forever it seems like I am waiting, like Amber waiting for her father on the front porch step.
The breath of color, chipped, alowing me to see its true redish tone.

Breath the movement that I live by.
You distract me though, reminding me of glazed pottery.
Forever I am mine to love too.
If only this ever changing yellow didn’t keep me so isolated.
I’ll erase this color off my paint pallet.
The colors that are at home are the ones that I will save.

What is a home without the colors on the wall.
Only to be saying, “ let the wine breath dear.”
Stop and take time to erase the thoughts of staying still.
I wish I had pottery to create and break.
Every meal wont be isolated
I am with you for my forever.

Forever on the run, that girl is.
She never seems to be at home.
Dieing to be in isolated arms.
Squeezed until her breath is lost.
Creating things like pottery, beaded bracelets, and picture memories.
Erasing thoughts of leaving in ten days.

Erase pencil from my paper, for I can never use pen.
The thought of ink forever staining the tint of the white paper.
My life ever changing like clay into glazed pottery.
What will my key look like to my home?
What temperature will I breath?
Never isolated in one small location.

Non isolated streets and open spaces.
To erase the past is impossible, unless I become clumsy.
I will breath steadily and take things as they come.
Forever he is mine and I am his.
My home will be me…and maybe his.
And our pottery we’ve created will decorate empty shelves.

We both have isolated arms that squeeze forever.
To erase our pasts and create a future, a home.
And as stubborn as we breath, we create beautiful pottery.