A human is clay

All the people here,
with distinct faces and lives,
with their eyes on you,
and all around you,
not because you're important,
because you're a mortal,
waiting for that one mistake,
one mistake that will make you fall,
so will you rather never make one?
and live a life above the clouds,
or would you make some,
and jump from heaven,
to the ground?
I don't ask you,
to be perfect or wax,
all I ask you is a question about a fact,
would you rather be imperfect,
and flawed and broken,
or a trophy,
which shines and glows,
and makes people bow,
no matter what you choose,
I'll have one thing to say,
a trophy is a trophy,
and a human is clay.

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