What am I ?

Am I the dented metal

Or chipped enamel

Of a workman

Valued for service,

stained by the years?

Am I the porcelain

Dainty flowers painted on my skin

Washed clean and treasured

For my beauty?

Am I full to the brim

And unconsumed,

grown stale from lack of replenishment

unable to pour myself away?

I am no one and everyone.

I am empty, waiting for content to arrive.

I am half full with joy,

optimism for what will fill me further.

I am only the coffee cup.

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