A Battle Every Day (Repetition Poem)

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it; what we’ve done

The human is a disk of dough; the dough has no choice in the matter

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it, controlled by the unseen hands

The human changes shape but can’t go back from where it came

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it; day to day I’m a moping machine

Slothing around the house, fully formed dough

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it; no two molds are alike, 

We bake differently

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it, that I’m bad at it, too

Beaten with a rolling pin, torn, pulled, pressed, and yanked this way and that

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it; even cookie-cutter cuts

Flour, water, yeast, sugar, salt, and fat—I remember from which we came

Most of it's terrible, and I tell myself I hate it; we are shaped without consent

At the mercy of the Baker