You’re surrounded by fresh slabs of clay.
When clay is new, it’s wet, dark, and flexible.
It’s much more loose, and willing to mold into new formations,
to discover the shape it will one day take.
Every day you shift and lean in different directions,
As a young person having dreams with empty intentions,
Scared for when you’ll say that these were the good old days,
Because you know it will frequently come to mind,
And you’ll spend your days as a sturdy and grey piece of clay
Thinking about all of the times
when your shins were sore from standing for your generation,
And you danced  to the youth and instrumentation,
When you uttered falsehoods to those in charge, squeezing through statues
As your hands started to shake at the bar,
When you’d gaze into the crowd outside and be taken by surprise when you think about your life and realize there are so many perspectives to share it with,
and you didn’t believe it could be true that in this crew there are people who felt the same way about you, and you jerked your head away when your staring had been detected, but luckily for you it was completely warranted,
so you careened out of the building and followed the trail of lampposts to bed, and the fire inside of you was visible through your eyes
when you walked with the crowd and you allowed your pinky to swing past theirs,
when you realized that they were alive and you didn’t need a compromise,
But you remember how these things go by fast,
And you remember the things you couldn’t get past,
Because their interest was waning, and you think of
When you were walking home and it was raining.
When you flung through the door and admired bits of half digested food shimmering in the bowl, and you opened up your body to the smoke signals of lovers quarrels, and you divulged secrets after getting hurt, not an eye for an eye but an eye for you getting to feel like you have your I, but still you
Shuddered at the memories that shuffled through your being,
Because a memory is a brand, heated by passion, leaving the scar of nostalgia.
But when they came back around having toured the town and fled the shack
You were at your greatest impass because you didn’t know if when you got lost in her eyes again that you’d be able to find your way back, So you went to your window and blew out your pain, so calm and still,

And flicked the paper into the and the stained filter floated back to the windowsill.