ďMachine is BreakingĒ

 

By Candy Stultz

June 12 2009

 

 

 

 

 

   

At times I am molested by the reality I canít make a difference.

This thought pattern is the polar opposite of what I have trained myself to believe.

Therapy session after secession I was taught, trained, tricked to believe I was a cog in this machine of life, no matter how small I felt.

My role was always pertinent to machine.

I always fought myself believing the machine would run fine with out my rusty, cracked or broken piece.

But therapy secession after secession manipulated me to believe my life was an important factor in another.

 

Yet sometimes the world around me seems so broken and I have no use,

I canít run anything alone and I canít fix whatís missing.

I feel like my cog is not being used,

The belt that turns me is broken and the pin that keeps me in place has slipped.

What good am I then?

A bright green stagnate cog among broken pulleys and lost connections.

 

If the machine was organic I would be like ivy.

I would reach and twist for something to attach to, maybe.

But for now itís not.

So I wait for gods upgrade, repair and replacement.

The machine has to keep running and Iím still in place

The almighty engineer will notice soon I pray.

When is maintenance check due?

 

Maybe if I break too the machine will start to smoke and inventor will do something.

What if I break and the machine runs better then ever?

Maybe my cog is obsolete, inadmissible or required.

Maybe thatís why nothing has been remedied.

 

Pandoraís Box of sadness opens and my cog begins to rust and discolor.

Will my check engine light blink now?

Paradox turns on reminding me Therapy session after session built an auxiliary will.

Paradox, Pandora, positive, negative and the diode conducts.

Alone my cog spins, the machine hums.

 

 

Spinning doing nothing

 

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