Rushed Doubt
Posted on 30 June 2011
In this, the age of Self-Esteem, we are instructed not to get our sense of value from outside, not to give in to the temptation, which, while not fully grown in everyone, is likely a seed waiting to bloom when given the right nutrients, to be happy only when loved, wanted, complimented.
So I eat the words youthful, vibrant, and devour the pleasure of being told I smell good. They fill me and mediate the perceived lack, the hollow spaces in my heart where the waters didn’t quite reach when I was being raised. These are the dried up places, where doctors put pills and counselors put tools (talk, listening, living skills, at worst – occupational therapy), and I turn and reach for the sounds of those words.
It lasts for a while, then the sun comes up and the soil dries to crumbles again, my soul withers and droops.
I’ll revive. Throw some water on me, feed me words, read to me on the sidewalk some night. It’s enough to last a while.
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