The Building Blocks of Self

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She wanted to create herself.

 
to set block upon block
 
until the right structure came into being; 
 
to set red block next to yellow block,
 
so that people might appreciate her qualities;
 
so that people might appreciate her.
 
The girl labored away meticulously in a musty room,
 
rearranging, configuring, trying to decide the structure that would be most pleasing;
 
dreading the day when one of the blocks might fall.
 
and leave in its place a gapping hole.
 
Then who would she be? 
 
Beneath dark, billowing cutains,
 
lies the room's lone, forgotten window,
 
revealing a world alive and bright,
 
slanting through the darkened room to where the girl works;
 
but the blocks loom before her.
 
They block out the world;
 
they make her a slave to her own construction. 
 
One day, through her labors, her ears catch the tinkling of a windchime in a breeze,
 
and the flutter of a bird's wings.
 
They make her imagine a day
 
when the tower of blocks comes crashing down,
 
and the multicolored cubes scatter to the dark recesses of the room.
 
She is nothing.
 
She is nothing, but she can still hear the tinkling of a windchime
 
and the flutter of a bird's wings.
 
At last, she can see the world, alive and bright,
 
peering through the billowing curtains,
 
cutting throught the darkness
 
to where she stands.
 

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