Each day is a fresh new opportunity
to show the world what you’re made of.
Some days, you’re made of honor. Courage. Art.
Other days, you’re comprised of potatoes.
Baked. Fried. Or liquefied, into vodka.
(Or perhaps, all of the above.)
Really, you have to look at your life
as a semi-intentional mix of many ingredients.
Shaken or stirred, blended, or bottled
you are what you consume, what you imbibe
what you create, what you hate, what you love.
Sometimes, you are relatively basic (or acidic)
other times, you are a miraculous concoction.
But you are never boring, never simply made.
No matter who, what, or where you are
you are anything, and everything precious.
Except at Starbucks, where you are worth twenty-five points, and a misspelled name.