Take a look in the mirror
Is your view blurry or clear?
Odds are you’ve changed,
Your life has been rearranged.
The you looking in the mirror could never be predicted,
It’s the you that has survived hard work and felt convicted.
You’ve grown.  You’ve matured.  You’ve lived through sorrows and harsh words.
You’ve fought the good fight and endured.
Change is painful
Sometimes sacrificial.
It takes time and effort,
Change is water in the desert.
Only now, looking back, do you see how it was beneficial,
Only now, looking on, do you see why it’s vital.
Only now, looking in the mirror, do you see past your own skin,
you see your soul, see where you begin.
Take courage
Have hope
March up this slope.
No matter what your struggle is,
No matter how perilous,
Continue your endeavors,
Brave the stormy weather,
You’re molding clay taking shape,
Let the transformation occur,
Stop seeking escape.

In a moment of inspiration, adrenaline, and determination…

Could I write a poem or prose?
I beg, if anybody knows.

Tell me how to do it,
how to let it flow.

Teach me how to speak,
how to pour my soul.

Could I write the story of my life?
I wish to share it, sweetness and strife

Tell me where to begin,
how to let it show.

Teach me how to speak,
how to pour my soul.

Could I sing you a love song?
I feel the notes in my bones.

Tell me how to play it,
how to compose.

Teach me how to speak,
how to pour my soul.

Could I pray a prayer soft and true?
Could I be a child that belongs to you?

Tell me where to begin,
how to let you through.

Show me how to love like you,
how to be a part of a whole,

Teach me how to speak,
how to pour my soul.

Poem — Jeremiah 18:1-6

An open mind, steady hand, silent workstation,
Set a fresh stage for a potter’s creation.
Thinking productively, wrestling mentally.
The blueprint is clear, pure potentiality,
Thinking productively turns to acting vigilantly.
A lump of clay begins to spin aimlessly, playfully,
But over time develops tastefully.
With great focus the potter pedals away,
Shaping, trimming, carefully tweaking,
Working with nature, all the more intriguing.
Lumps of clay transform into being,
Smoothed to perfection. 
Moving gracefully in the final direction.
Circular motion slows to a halt,
The potter can find no more faults.
His love for his piece does not stop
His creation is finished, but his work is not.