The Character

He was obsessed with the creation

Not the creation of mankind

Or the creation of products

 

But with the creation of the personality

 

He was a character in a story of his life

Who narrated their own acts daily

And if he was so inclined

Or if the necessity arose

He created a new character on a whim

 

He could be whoever he wanted to be

And better yet

He could be who they wanted him to be

Even if he truly was not

 

The embodiment of a charade

The ultimate ‘yes’ man

 

And there was a point where this was fine

Where he relished this constant recreation of self

As if it was simply meant to be that he

Was never simply ‘he’ but something far more complex

 

This act, for him, was no different

Than donning a mask

After shedding the former

 

Sadly our character had other habits as well

Sometimes he would act like a child

In a fine china store

Running with both arms wide

Spilling dish after dish onto the floor

 

Was he to blame for his actions

To put it simply, yes

But he was indeed a child

So perhaps the actions

Should have been expected

 

He, like all people, was composed

Of a multitude of actions and sayings

And perhaps he was shaped most

By what was left unsaid

 

Shaped by the words missing

Molded by the lack of company

Embalmed in his isolation

 

Left to wander an empty house

While he changed his face constantly

Feeling as if he was mired in quick sand

And was sinking slowly

 

Changing shape and changing form

And trapped in the same situations

04/05/2012

Reviews

[...]

Phenomenal !

Brilliantly etched !

My favourite lines are :

"He could be whoever he wanted to be

And better yet

He could be who they wanted him to be

Even if he truly was not"