This path is like a floor of translucent scales. Each one overlaps the one before it and I can see through to the underneath and what lay there before. It is remnant but no longer real. It cannot survive me because of this list.
It lived for its successes of yesterday and its defiant goals for tomorrow… It hid behind its inner child because doing that allowed it to be a victim. It learned when to put on the right mask for the right audience and it hung out in the space between its temples – often the most dangerous neighborhood of them all. It never learned to deal with life on life’s terms, so it found solace in something cunning, baffling and powerful. Then… because it had such a low self esteem, it would have to overcompensate to prove that it was the first, the most, the best. And still, disappointments happened and it faced the devastation of rejection and wallowed some more in its own stinking-thinking.
This path is like a floor of mirrored scales. Each one overlaps the one before it and I can see through to the underneath of what lay there before. It is remnant but no longer real. It could not survive me because of this list.
It never learned to listen to today, and just for today. It never acknowledged that we are not saints so it never really came to terms with embracing a rigorous honesty with itself. It never tried to find serenity because it never understood that it is infinitely more than anyone might think. It refused to believe that it was a work in progress because it always had to be the first, the most, the best. And through all its strife and perpetual remodeling, it never grasped the reality that the idea is, simply, to get happy.
So there it lies underneath this path that is like a floor of reflective scales. I can see it for what it was before. It is remnant but no longer real.
It will not survive me because of this list.
© Dylan Balkind