It's just another misc thing. Something I started with one idea and finished with thirteen thousand others. It's kinda weird, kinda feelsy, but its one of the few I actually wonted to put to paper/digital record. So, Hope you enjoy. Cnc Always welcome, helps weird thingies like this grow into somethings that are far beyond what they started with.
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I’m standing.
When I was born I was carried, supported in every fashion, taken care of, coddled and hidden and sheltered as they showed me only light, only good, because The only bad I could comprehend was when The lower regions of my body were suddenly uncomfortable or soiled.
Then I aged, and I was led, pulled and directed by a hand, warm and large, and as I remember some things, occasionally harsh, and tight and cold. But I learned why. I learned many things, because I was lead to them, the hand was my life line.
Then the hand let go and I was walking on my own. It was still around, the hand it directed, it pointed, and patted, swatted, spanked, redirected. Now I marched. Only then did I realize when it drew away that when I was smaller it had also once blinded. It still did, but I didn’t really mind.
Next was running, forced to surge ahead and avoid so many hands which now pull at me. I realize I have hands which can touch others. I have carried I have led and directed, I have blinded and it scares me. I am running because the only hand I have want to believe in is my own because so many confuse me. So many reach out to tar and to hit, to injure me for reasons I cannot understand. I run for fear of no origin or origins I never knew applied to me. I run for things I shouldn’t have to.
In short pauses I take and allow hands to gently cajole me, caress or comfort me, I understand some now, I don’t fear some now, I can trust some now. I strike back at those which strike at me and I have stopped running. I have resisted pushes and pulls. I have endured strikes of rage and delivered my own. My legs are scarred and strong and tired of running. I eventually step up and away. Now my legs are stone.
I look back at things that have made me run, for confusion and fear and hurt and hate. I ran because I cut my hair. I ran because I wore a skirt that day. I ran because he said he loved me. I ran because she died before I said I love you. I ran because i didn't know the answer. I ran because I knew the answer too well. I ran because I thought was different. I ran because they thought I was the same. I ran from myself, and others. I ran from assumptions. I ran from names. I ran from nights. I ran from friends. I ran from strangers-so many strangers. I ran from lies. I ran from hate. I ran, and ran, and ran, and ran. I ran from you.
I fell too, in to periods of rest, or forced confinement. Once or twice someone else helped me back. These moments never lasted long. They were never peaceful, they were never real. Even then, when I was held down I would still run.
Today I my feet are rooted. My cement limbs unmoving, my position undaunted by any fist which comes at me. My skin is thin, my blood still leaks, but you aim for old stone which is of no use to me. My legs don’t matter my mind is free. You stoop so low you can’t reach my knees. Your eyes are level with my ankles. Mine are level with the stars.
So hit me. Thrash at me, bash my weaknesses, throw me for a loop, I’m not moving. Place the barrel in my mouth and pull the trigger-I’m still standing. Tall enough to reach down and help others find their pedestals.
I have become stone. I have remained oh so breakable, but unlike before I am unmovable.
I’m scarred, cracked, vandalized, broken, and disliked. I’m an eyesore, I’m a nuisance, I’m something you want nothing more than to drag down to your level and smash to pieces.. I’m what some need to see so they know whose hands they can hold. I’m what you has little ones constantly peeking. I’m everything some people need to see to want to be free.
I’m everything I need to be until you can learn to keep your hands to yourself.
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Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!