#metaphorical

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My reference image:

[Liquid is sitting at his desk, drawing characters with suggestive designs & sometimes suggestive stories behind them, as well as writing some of them in toxic situations or relationships. The overall cadence behind the characters suggests sexualization or fantasy.]

[A strawman, fabricated for the sake of discussion]: "Hey, stop that! That's (Offensive / insensitive / immoral / uncomfortable / distasteful / immature, etc etc, any of the above, really.) and you're making things worse for someone!"

[Liquid looks up and makes eye contact for a brief moment before looking away to the side. He inhales, and speaks.]: "Anyone who sees this and feels something is a branch, broken from a tree. I am too. None of us may be identical, nearby, cohesive, what have you."

[Liquid, continuing]: "But we all know the feeling of being torn from what we are comfortable with. The difference between that point is where we go from there. You, while you are not real, do follow a process I'm sure many do, especially in the context of this medium. You fashion yourself into an axe, so that you may defend yourself or others. Yet, in doing so, refuse to become anything but sharp."

[Liquid, continuing]: "You know the sting of being broken. You know how it pained you to feel the biting force of another's will. It's inescapable in any context, but especially through a medium where we are nothing but our words to each other. You may be an axe, I will not stop you nor shame you for doing so, only remind you."

[Liquid, continuing]: "I'm reminding you that we are all still branches at our cores. You can choose to lay yourself down at any moment, and, as I have, let yourself be enraptured by this endless ecosystem. Of thoughts and values. Of data points and pathos. Of satire and earnest. Or you can continue your exertions, emboldened by your will and direction."

[Liquid, continuing]: "Either way, if what I do or say displeases you, forgive me as I will forgive you. I did not make any of this to displease people. It's fiction created on spur of the moment inspiration or momentum after the fact."

I can imagine god sitting in his chair, hovering over the potter’s wheel with a sardonic grin on his lips. His omnipotent hands, capable of creating beautiful mountains and alluring oceans, were used to create my pitiful existence.

He created hands that would seek aberrant desires, eyes that would gaze upon forbidden sights, and a heart so heavy, it may as well fall out of my chest and stop beating. An existence so futile, I truly wondered if I was created out of ridicule or benevolence.

The nature of my being proved negligence during its formation. The faint scratches I was born with, that soon morphed into cracks due to my brittle foundation. How I was frequently pushed aside, as a hollow vase placed on a forgotten shelf by virtue of my ruined temperament.

Indeed, it was a virtue. For who am I, of inferior status, to question why god has designed me this way? It was an immoral transgression, for such a corrupted creature as I to even doubt god’s judgement. Rather, I should be grateful. I should prostrate, with hands clasped together and tears in my eyes, out of sheer gratitude. To be joyful that I was born, even if it was out of contempt.

The expectation that I must plunge into shame and hide the essence of who I am was forced upon me. I was obliged to be contrite for hands stained with blood that I was born with. I was to be ashamed of sins that I did not commit.

But I continued to carry a guilt that was not mine. I feigned humiliation for so long that it became engrained into me. A new crack added to the damaged visage, one that blended in with my previous defects.

Holding this position of submission for so long had my knees aching, and my blood tainting the pure ground that I rested my forehead on. I couldn’t move, nor did I want to. I pathetically clung to the belief that if I displayed my remorse, I would be atoned for my immorality.