Armor

Strange, isn't it--

how Our younger selves knew

and the older We got

the more We muddied the waters--

   warped the mirrors--

      stained Our own sight--

We didn't question--

because We made sense

of a world We didn't fully understand

and it didn't matter if We were short--

   Our weight didn't mean jack--

      and being weird wasn't so bad--

But We grew up

and 'queer' became more

than a synonym for 'odd'

and We found more things to hate

   My hair is too curly--

      My ears stick out--

         My belly is chubby--

             My chest is too flat--

until 'living' became a synonym

for 'fighting one's self'

We began to dissect ourselves--

ravenous for fatal flaws 

to prove Our own worthlessness

by creating a jigsaw of inner anguish--

   unrealistic expectations--

      unyielding self-restraints--

And We packed Ourselves away--

hoping to protect 

what precious little we liked

that tiny little shred of wonder--

   a special gift--

      something we could live for--

And we trekked on in the dark. 

Author's Note

This was not what I intended when I started writing, but this is what happened, and I'm sticking with it. Possible part two later on.

Reviews

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T..]

Yes. Why did I not see this? I have been oblivious to my friend's dark corners far too long. Playing with my old box of plush toy animals (tigers, lions and bears... oh my), those pushy-whirly-things that ram flint against steel and spark like the backend of a 1932 Buck Rogers rocket ship... should I feel guilty that other's cannot experience these wonderous things, except prehaps vicariously though these words? Should I feel guilty that I want to hug the pot-bellied bear or snuggle the lion with ears that stick out from it's too-curly hair or dance with the adorable orange-&-black striped tiger that was sat upon once too many times so that its chest (and pretty much everything else) is a bit too flat? Perhaps, but I don't. Is that strange? The waters look muddy from where I sit too; probably because I forgot where I put my glasses. I agree, expectations can be a terrible thing... I have learned to avoid them at all costs, for better or worse. What's past is past, the future is not yet and there is only "now." And now I read of "Armor" and yet another use for that shiney concept -- in defending oneself from our own expectations. Truly, I have not yet lived to so long or become so dull and dim and cowardly that I will not venture into the dark with a friend... you can hold the lion or the bear, I've got the tiger. Don't forget your sparky thing; it's dark inside that closet, that large, mysterious wardrobe of the mind.

100 special treks

[Emma Lee-Riviera]

You are so precious. Thank you. ^^ Tea, Tiger Rider?

[Ufi Auttorri ~ Amy C. T. Serrat]

Yes, please! :)

[emmajoy]

'.. until 'living' became a synonym .. for 'fighting one's self' .. '

Seems your poem was written like as a fact-finding mission and what you found was more than alarm than satisfactions - perhaps.

But you know, what i read is a wonderful journey through a grand life of normal flaws and pleasures, in other words a real life. So much pressures placed on us, we go on until we except too much or too little for selves and end up wrapped in grey instead of rainbows.

This is such a touching, near inspirational piece of writing that finishes not with darkness but a rainbow flourish. May i just end by saying., whatever your age, Go Girl!'

[Emma Lee-Riviera]

Oh, wow. Thank you so much! ^^

[emmajoy]

:) and many more