I made this wrong thing right because I got tired of the fights, not between me and him, but between me and me. They were like little voices in my head, they didn't fear me, they just drove me crazy and made me think about things that really weren't. They told truth and then made me question, told lies and then made me transform them to truth. What mess had I gotten myself into?
It was more than a mess, it was a dirt pile, and instead of weeding through and making sense I somehow unconsciously seemed to wallow in it like a pig. I felt dirty, fat, ugly. I wiped my face only to turn to the other side and get it dirty again. I rubbed so hard that it smeared and smudged into my eyes and left me with semi sight.
There was something crazy about this dirt though. I liked it here, I kept coming back here. Bathed in it as if it was clear. Tried to shower in it but couldn't. Tried to build castles with it but it wasn't intended for that. Saw it as colorful and it held only brown. I tried to make it everything it wasn't and then I wondered why it kept letting me down. Letting me down, I think not, I was letting it down, I was trying to make it something it wasn't. It was put in my life to teach me something but what can it teach me if I try to learn off it based on my obligations and not what it was really. It was dirt, but it was my dirt and if I didn't accept it as that, then everything I made it out to be was unreal and unteachable.
You would be amazed with the things you can do with dirt. I became amazed how soft and sensual dirt is. I'm glad I finally allowed it to be what it is, or I may have kept running back to it looking for something that it never was.
(c) 2011 Ebony Larijani
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