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4.83 / 5.00

May 10, 2017 | 5:53 PM EDT
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Author Comments

I wrote a poem and this goes with it. Here is the poem:


We are all jars of personality.
Some clear and open,
Others opaque and sealed tightly,
Some with a painted facade,
Creating false hope.

But we are all jars,
Each experience shapes us.
A fall can cause us to crack
And even break.
They remain as scars of experience
Making us different from one another,
Helping but hurting,
An excuse to accuse and poke fun.

Humans are jars,
We all hold differences.
Some hold sun wishing to shine through,
Others hold storms slowly chipping us away.
We think we know our contents,
But mystery ingredients remain.

I am a jar,
Wishing to be opened.
Needing to be explored.
Full of me, but not myself.
But you my friend, are a jar, too.



Rated 5 / 5 stars

I don't know. I've always being told I'm a bucket, if I'm an inanimate object at all. People spend their time using me to help clean up their messes and mistakes, then dump me out in the street when I can't handle any more of it. I spend the rest of my time in my dark little home, waiting until life forces me to go back out and suffer through the same cycle again. Yeah, unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I'm just a bucket, but your kind words about me being a jar are appreciated nonetheless. Thank you.

cosmickittygal567 responds:

Well damn. That was depressing, but quite true for my life as well.