Play Things

Just a little thing about how some of us regularly feel

What are we?

What are we as people?

How is it we feel as individuals?

Are we more than this?

Simply put, we are toys.

Just mere play things.


We are meant to

be a simple art.

Coloring books with

The rules and

guidelines. Stay

in the lines, and

make it pretty.

Don’t color with

markers. You will

ruin the next

page. Coloring with

crayons won’t look

quite right. Use the

colored pencil, but

only if they’re sharp. 

Color in the same

direction to make it

look nice and neat. 

Now, tear out the

pages, for everyone

to see. When they're

done, they'll crumple 

it up like garbage.

Our Emotions are toys

that others play with,

especially so. 

They are Legos. 

Those little blocks

we would use to build

things as ignorant children. 

They were different colors;

they were long and short.

We could just spend hours, 

just building,


Shaping them into

what we wanted. 

We would create

that beautiful and 

perfect plastic structure, 

and within seconds, 

someone could destroy 

it, tear it apart. 

Toss the pieces onto

the floor, where

our exposed feet

would find them. 

We would cry out

in pain, but

who would care?

We live our lives

as a Rubik's cube.

We start off right, 

our colors perfectly

aligned. Organized, structured. 

And then life happens. 

Our colors are mixed, 

we become jumbled. 

We have the shape 

of what we were, 

but not the structure.

We doubt that we will

ever be perfect again. 

If we will ever be the way

we were meant to be.

We spend the rest of 

our lives struggling,

just trying to be

perfect. To achieve

the perfection we were

born as. To be complete.

Those of us lucky enough

finally realign their colors.

They become what they

want to be. Either by

accident, or some

calculated formula. 

They are complete. 

The others though go on.

They try to stumble

upon that perfect accident, 

or the perfect formula. 

Just trying to achieve

perfection. Achieve happiness.

We are, each of us;

our own unique page,

creatively colored in. 

Our emotions, the blocks;

the Legos, used as structure.

We have the complexity 

of a Rubik's cube.

Our lives are what we

played with and desired

to do as children. 

The End

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