I am a square. Not just a normal square but an especially inefficient square.
for decades, yes decades,
i woke up, every morning
only to realize, to my dismay
that i was still a square.
not just a square but an especially, inefficient square
who lived surrounded by the clamour of a large family
pressing in on every unyielding side
digging into every sharp corner.
ruthlessly, without thought,
i hacked off every corner
until i managed to roll, albeit unsteadily
through my day,
pretending to be an efficient circle
an ideal mother and housewife.
i needed sleep.
i woke up, stretched, stood, discovering yet again that my surgery
was not permanent.
no, my true self regenerated those stupid corners
over and over, day after day, year after year
like a surrealist’s farce.
i have begun to rejoice in my inefficiency,
to rejoice in my creative square-like self.
i am an artistic, drawing, writing sort of square.
a colourful, multi-hued sort of square
with depth and texture.
a rather quirky, interesting square.
a one-of-a-kind square
perhaps, after all these years,
i might be described best as a well worn, well-rounded square with many love triangles inscribed within.