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Round Peg, Square holes
Round Peg, Square holes
The hammer comes down again
pain shoots through my legs
Through my skull
Can't you see I don't fit?
You can't force me in without damage
to me, to my psyche
I'm not like that
cookie cutter shape fitting in
I rebel, I rant
I Fight conformity
And see my outer shell broken
psyche torn down
to be like everyone else
fitting into a square hole
5/8/2006 6:57 am
He always wanted to explain things, but no-one cared.|
So he drew.
Sometimes he would just draw and it wasn’t anything.
He wanted to carve it in stone or write it in the sky.
He would lie out on the grass and look up in the sky and it would only be the sky and the things inside him that needed saying.
And it was after that that he drew the picture.
It was a beautiful picture. He kept it under his pillow and would let no-one see it.
And he would look at it every night and think about it.
And when it was dark and his eyes were closed he could see it still.
And it was all of him and he loved it.
When he started school he brought it with him.
Not to show anyone, but just to have it with him like a friend.
It was funny about school.
He sat in a square brown desk like all the other square brown desks
and he thought it would be red.
And his room was a square brown room, like all the other rooms.
And it was tight and close. And stiff.
He hated to hold the pencil and chalk, with his arm stiff and his feet flat on the floor, stiff, with the teacher watching and watching.
The teacher came and spoke to him.
She told him to wear a tie like all the other boys.
He said he didn’t like them and she it didn’t matter.
After that they drew. And he drew all yellow and it was the way he felt about morning. And it was beautiful.
The teacher came and smiled at him. What’s this? She said.
"Why don’t you draw something like Ken’s drawing?
Isn’t it beautiful?"
After that his mother bought him a tie and he always drew airplanes
and rocket ships like everyone else.
And he threw the old picture away.
And when he lay out alone looking at the sky, it was big and blue;
and all of everything, but he wasn’t anymore.
He was square and brown inside and his hands were stiff.
And he was like everyone else. All the things inside him that needed saying didn’t need it anymore.
I had stopped pushing. It was crushed.
Like everything else.
Written by an English schoolboy, sent in by Klaas van Dalen.
Art~don't let this happen to you! We all feel this way, we have all suffered turmoil, but don't let it end with everything being like everything else...
5/8/2006 8:45 pm
that's a wonderful story. |
Don't worry about me being like everyone else: I'm trying to find a way to stop the hammer from hitting me.....
5/9/2006 9:24 pm
Vick: I'm not sure what shape of peg you take on |
5/11/2006 12:47 am
I *Love* this! Thanks for posting it!|
5/11/2006 7:50 pm
Babel: thank you; I love your accolades. BTW: your profile pic is excellent|
5/14/2006 9:17 pm
Shy: my nephew has a form of autism... I can relate|