Good morrow chaps, chapettes and chapsticks, you know who you are.
An analogy I’ve been mentally kicking the tires on of late goes as follows; life is like playdough session. Having never been partial to boxed chocolates one must extrapolate.
Anyway, let’s consider, your parents, (guardians whatever), provide you with what is essentially an arbitrary amount of materials and their corresponding consistencies. Perhaps you’re granted a vast sum of endless colours with perfect chemical makeup. More likely however, it will be of limited supply and perhaps a little dry or mealy.
You then shape your materials based upon your surroundings and any tools you may have been given, before determining how long or even whether to let “dry”. Perhaps that’s not even up to you, or maybe you’re very confidant and fire it, a solid piece but the more set the more difficult to change later.
Finally, you have your finished pieces in whatever form they may be, and now optimal arrangement is the game. Now we’ve the final work, and maybe it’s a crystalline sculpture shining in its elegance, or maybe not, perhaps you were never granted the necessary resources or time. Tear down is still possible, even starting completely anew, going to acquire fresh playdough with your adult freedoms has potential, you’re likely though to find that most are unable to endure such largescale construction. Whether their molds or minds now lack pliability, they are still being denied access to important materials, or whatever other damage your tower has assumed over the years, such trials are no small feat. Nearly Hobbit-sized even. Less hairy though.
Who has read or seen the movie, “The Perks of Being a Wallflower”? I’m honestly unsure whether I recommend it, it’s top notch but when I viewed approximately a decade ago it also was a little too close to my own trials such that it suborned an intense depression. My point though is that the quote, “we accept the love we think we deserve”, has and likely will never leave me, and features mostly as the opening of today’s piece. Poem not playdough, though when considered the two can be similarly piecemeal.
“The Wallflowers”, May 4, 2021.
We take on love believed deserved
And decline much the same
Illogical ideals persevered
All silent in their shame
It’s said the emptiness inside
Can never be refilled
But nemesis could be allied
With primitive rebuild
Shifting lines between friend and foe
Arrant smoke upon a gale
Wispy fractals and effete glow
Shaded, marks the wanton trail.
————————————————————————————————————————————————-I think were I to attempt another pass at the source material it would be found considerably less debilitating in my (infinitesimally) more mature state. Maybe we’ll find out some day.
In summary, today’s post is a touch more downcast than intended. Writing when it’s raining is like grocery shopping when hungry, you end up with a bunch of stuff you weren’t really planning on and slightly regret it later. Apparently we’re hosting simile school today, but really that’s just a metaphor.
Happy Trails and Waggy Tales.
May all the love you truly deserve find it’s way home regardless.
I always assumed “elevenses” would be an “ies”.
A fractured mind held together by cellophane and some used tack.