metaphorAsk me no questions…
And I’ll tell you no lies.
~ Oliver Goldsmith

I googled “metaphor” and got this image. The gypsy said “what?” and the child said “use it!”

I don’t have the wit today to properly tell you about the baby squirrel.

I don’t have the strength to discuss Chaos.

I don’t have the fortitude to allude to unspoken truths.

And I don’t have the energy to explain why the sky is blue.

I thought about blogging in metaphorland. Debated discussing secrets and desires, wishes and hope. Briefly toyed with the idea of relationship tricks and the sheer amount of words that go unspoken. Unexplainable pain and frustration flitted across the thought process and were spit out the other side looking very much like a car after the junkyard has reduced it to a cube of useless metal. I even erased several sentences worth of a scream I’ve been holding in, that wants nothing more than to be heard from the tallest building.

But no. I can’t. I won’t. Whatever.

Instead, I’m going to go to work and lose myself in numbers. Then, I sense a very hot shower, nap and possibly some journal time before I emerge from my cocoon—family none the wiser—to sing while I cook and smile at the little things in life that people don’t usually see.

As I’m expected.

Because I am the gypsy, the wench, the twelve year old, and the tomboy. I am the best friend, the little sister, the daughter and the danger. Today, I am a puzzle purchased at a garage sale. I can still be put together and appear wonderful, but missing one piece…

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