#changing form

This, Then, is Shangri-la.

Okay, let’s begin again. Start from the top, this time… tell it right.

Each time we do this, you add a little more, you fill out the room, you give me a better idea of what’s going on. So keep going. You’re not dead yet.

It starts out weak, shiny, and curious. It knows great joy and great sadness, probably a little sooner than most.

It breaks, delicate things shatter easily. But the pieces become daggers, poised to impale all that get too close.

It hardened. Spikes and shards pressed into diamonds. It glittered and organized atoms and organs, creating beautiful armor around all the soft vulnerable parts.

But what then? You built your shell, what next?

I listened. We were playing a game, it’s all a game. You know people. This not that, me, not you, one of us, reject, reject, eject.

I was not. But I put on a good show, I had a knack for the Noh. But I hated wearing a mask and this armor was limiting my form.

I left doors in, but very little way out. I had windows for others to peek in, but kept my eyes closed.

For too long.

For too long.

The room was too small, this armor became a weight. And the sky was too tempting, so I left.

Left the room, left that safety, left to be whatever I am, not what I thought I had to be.