RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Pasted together with hope and prayer, a paper person stands before you and stares.
Nothing going on, no where to go or have been - outside circumstances filling the being within.
Not knowing how to be a self - a person - continues living - an empty shell.
Trying to fill self with others - filling their needs, taking care of them - has left no place for a self to be.
What a great person, a wonderful wife!
Praise flows sweetly for the person who is only an empty shell.
Slowly, quietly, anger fills each nook and cranny, just barely being able to contain it, for it is an exploding sun - catching fire within - building up like a volcano, ready to erupt.
As suddenly as it's realized, it's stuffed back down within the shell, so no one can be hurt, but self.
Self is nothing, self is worthless - unless doing something for someone else.
Praying without much hope that the paste will not dry out and the person shell will not crumble.
Papiermache self - empty - no self-esteem - no self-worth - nothing hiding inside.
An empty vessel, waiting to be filled and never is.
Not knowing that it must be filled by itself - it sits on the shelf.
Slowly, quietly, suddenly - overnight, it seems - a person began to develop - to blossom - to begin to fill the empty shell with feelings -felt, opinions - spoken out loud, a worth - that could finally be felt.
Somehow years fall away and a self has finally evolved and become a person worthy of love, respect and dignity.
A person - a self - has finally arrived, leaving the papiermache shell behind.
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Comments about this poem (Papiermache Self by RoseAnn V. Shawiak )
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