MarSan

Mexico

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Message from Writer

They/Them

Soldier Toy

November 22, 2019

FREE WRITING

2
Underneath all the silk layers, upon the raw flesh is where I write down prayers for a stranger. 

Tender flesh screams of inexperience, it drips with honeycomb lies. It tenses under the weight of nothing, doubles over its own self-expectations. It is tattoed with the word "worthless" over and over again and shines as bright as the golden child syndrome. 

There, in the place in which there's nothing but a prideful and reckless toddler, is where it hurts the most. Having yourself being handed to you in a silver plate, facing a race in which someone has moved your legs until almost the end. And yet, not being able to walk the last steps. A promise of a world-changing project. A block of clay shaped by thousands of hands, destined to be revolutionary. Destined to be something. Only for it to fall apart last minute. To lose its direction and drip down the sink. 

The soldier toy is facing a world he convinces himself he will not survive, only to be pushed forward by empty promises of greatness, of being capable of doing anything. The soldier toy is sure that it's all inside him, he's just not trying hard enough. And if he is, then he'd rather die than admit that maybe he's not as strong as his father. That he didn't inherit the charisma. Even worse, that he doesn't have the talent he's been promised over and over. 

And if he has, it's wasted on him. 

Soldier Toy has a big mouth for his size, it makes up for his lack of bravery. He doesn't know where he got it from, but somewhere along the line, everything became about power. About everything he could do and couldn't and said he could and then couldn't. About biting too much, too far and choosing to choke over spitting it out. It's a fucking race he can't bring himself to win. Maybe he already won and is crowded with plastic crowns. Maybe he'll never be able to. He doesn't even know what the race is for anyway. That still doesn't stop him from salivating over success. Over worthless pieces of paper, that claim that he's done something wonderful. And he can't bring himself to think of one fucking thing he's proud of. 

Soldier Toy, where are you going?

Where will that get you?

Can you even get there? 

Soldier Toy, I just hope your tender flesh isn't ripped apart. 

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2 Comments
  • Y.S ☮

    Mother: Oh for the country's depressed toy soldier! 911! 911! For America's safety!


    about 1 year ago
  • Bookworm101

    Wow. The illustrative language and the metaphors in this are beautiful. My favourite line is: 'Tender flesh screams of inexperience, it drips with honeycomb lies.'
    I honestly don't understand some of it :D but... wow. It's beautiful.
    Thanks for sharing!! :D


    about 1 year ago