Lines of Slates

I'm going somewhere else. Please don't wag your finger at me, dress me down for stepping out of line. It's pointless. Of course, I'll understand if you are unable to comprehend that concept. After all, you've been trained to believe that we're all blank slates upon which a specific formula must be written. It's hardly your fault if I've already marked my slate full.

I am someone else. I am not the person who came before me, nor am I the individual who follows after me. I am unique, with my own plans, own ambitions, and own specific needs. And if you will not address those needs for me, I must find some other means by which to fulfill myself. Forget it- I am not such a contortionist that I can fit in that little velvet box you're holding.

I'll be completed somehow. But you don't have any more pieces to my puzzle - you don't even know what I should look like. So give it up. Back down. Watch me sway away, feet finding ground you've never dreamed of treading. You can wait for me to fall, to fail, if you'd like. Whatever - I don't care. But stop trying to squeeze me into that velvet box and realize that not every life thinks linearly. You've got to let me go, or else risk damaging everything that's within me that's already been pressed into place.