If I could compare the mind to one thing, it would be clay.
Real substance derived from a place in nature,
completely unscathed by the train wreck of society.
But that changes with time.
Like clay, the mind can be molded by anyone and anything.
Starting off as smooth, innocent perfection,
it has no predisposition.
It is sought after by artists and men in suits,
desiring only to shape it to fit their needs.
We must be flexible,
we must change who we are,
we must conform to the strong hands of society.
Once it becomes time,
once we become of age,
we are tossed into the inferno.
Drugs and alcohol.
Finding out who we truly are.
But we can take comfort in the fact that when we emerge from the flames,
we will be solid.
The days of getting kneaded and prodded,
sometimes torn apart by life's obstacles,
are over, and we are stronger because of it.