Carving a Snowflake
Scissors and folded paper
and no design
or pattern to direct my mind;
no way to guide myself from wrong
when right itself is undefined.
Freedom is a terrifying place
when you are young
in a world of uncompromising certainties.
Scissors and folded paper
an invitation to random expression,
to imagine and create.
Hands shaking with the fear,
palms sweaty with the tension,
struggling through the motions,
stabbing into the rigid brick of paper,
hacking a stunted, twisted, crude, ungodly mess.
Expression is a terrifying act
when you are young
in a world of deep conviction.
Scissors and folded paper
an exhortation to reveal our work
and, in revealing, to awaken to perfection
in individual design and collective pattern.
What horror! Ice grips the heart:
this fraud will be exposed.
Clenched within my over heated fist,
the snowflake crushed and melted to a knot
fell silently beneath my feet
in time for me to claim it’s loss.
Exposure is a terrifying thought
when you are young
in a world of righteous judgement.
Scissors and folded paper
and no demands but mine,
wait for some chosen moment without design
when, with one awful, simple slice,
I declare my freedom.