Who am I?

Who I am
is not of my making
yet not one facet
would I change

I have been pruned,
molded, cast by specific
hands in certain ways –
chipped and whittled
rough edges curling,
splintering off to lie
in abandoned heaps
on the floor.

Now I await
the varnishing, staining
with special dyes,
buffing and polishing.
I am almost whole
but the hands of
a master craftsman
has yet to enter
the production room
for finishing touches.

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