I wasn’t born with this body.
I wasn’t born with this body.
And I’m fairly certain it isn’t mine.
It's never looked quite right, to be honest.
And it misbehaves most of the time.
It's never done what I’ve asked of it.
Never represented me very well at all.
I've worked hard to change it. Decorated it in all sorts of ways.
But still, it never cooperates or makes things easy.
And that's kind of a problem.
What to do. What to do.
Well, I put it to work right away, that's for sure. Made this old carcass earn its keep.
Seems the least it could do for me....after all I have to do for it.
The sheer maintenance requirements. I mean, who has the time?
Bathing, shaving, trimming, and brushing. The daily rituals are such a bore.
And the constant feeding. Good grief, you should see what this thing eats. Talk about a chore.
And then, do you know what happens?
Don't get me started on that mess. Let's forget I brought it up.
And it's the strangest thing, you know?
Even after all this work and care... you'd think I'd recognize it right away.
But no.
Puddles, ponds, panes of glass...I never recognize what I see.
Mirrors, windows, looking glass...Those images are never me.
Spoons come close, doorknobs too...
I once stood alongside my best friend's mom's 1976 Ford Gran Torino, staring at my reflection in the passenger door.
"There!" I said.
"There I am, right there."
Then his big sister swung open the door, knocked me on my ass, and Poof!💨 I disappeared.
Who's to blame?
Of course, I can't blame this body for ALL its shortcomings.
I mean, I CAN be a pretty tough customer.
I've put this old bag of bones through the ringer.
I've bumped and bruised it, burnt and contused it, and buried it alive in raw sewage once upon a time.
I've built it up, broken it down, fattened it up, and then starved it near to death – just to "get in shape."
I've kept it out late at night. Pumped it full of all sorts of cocktails, potions, and powders. I've smoked it, stoked it, pickled, and poked it.
But still...
Not at all what I had in mind.
I wasn't born with this body.
This carriage of flesh and bone.
This painful house of reckoning is surely not my home.
I don’t know what will become of me when I finally take my leave.
But hopefully, if I’ve done it right, I’ll finally feel like me.
I love you guys.
-Paul 😊