Poem: "What You Choose to Build With"
Mar. 19th, 2025 08:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ysabetwordsmithThis poem is spillover from the September 3, 2024 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by a prompt from see_also_friend. It also fills the "Addiction" square in my 9-1-24 card for the People with Disabilities Drabble Fest Bingo. This poem has been sponsored by janetmiles. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It follows "Not Until We Are Lost" and "Come to a New Point of View" so read those first, or this won't make much sense.
"What You Choose to Build With"
[Afternoon of Saturday, July 14, 2007]
Kevin woke with a dry mouth,
a faint headache behind his eyes,
and no idea where he was except
that it felt incredibly comfortable.
Sitting up, he found himself
in a beautiful bohemian room
with a peaked roof overhead.
Late afternoon light slanted
through the windows to fall
across a polished wood floor
and a fluffy white area rug.
Kevin himself lay on a row
of velveteen cushions that
seemed to serve as a bed.
It was softer and cozier than
the one from his college dorm.
"Welcome back to the waking world,"
Skiddoo said, unfolding his long legs.
"Did you have a good nap? You
looked like you needed one."
"Um, yeah," Kevin said, trying
to remember what happened.
Then it all came crashing back.
"My life is over," he groaned.
"I am fucked, so totally fucked."
"Oh, I don't know about that,"
said Skiddoo. "How about
I get us some snacks, and
then we can talk it over."
"I'm not hungry," Kevin said,
then recalled how good the food
was here. "But if you want, okay."
"It will help," Skiddoo promised,
and went down the narrow stairs.
Kevin scrubbed his hands over
his face and tried not to think
about blowing up his whole life.
He used the bathroom and
splashed water on his face.
Skiddoo came back with
a full tray and a pitcher.
With one foot, he hooked
a weird little wooden table
whose edge reminded Kevin
of Victorian trim winding above
curved legs that ended in paws.
"What is that?" Kevin asked.
"It's too low for an end table,
and too small for a coffee table."
Skiddoo grinned as he set out
the snacks. "Opium table," he said.
"They make good plant stands, trays
for breakfast in bed, or pretty much
anything when you're sitting on the floor."
One bowl held olives, while another
looked like candied nuts. Several types
of cheese -- including a spreadable log
of goat cheese -- piled on top of the tray
alongside an assortment of crackers
and a small loaf of homemade bread.
Kevin's mother never cooked. She
preferred to pay people for that.
He would bet that Skiddoo had
baked the bread himself, although
he might've gotten it from a friend.
It smelled so good that even Kevin
was tempted, despite his low appetite.
"Don't try to stuff yourself," said Skiddoo.
"Uppers will bork your whole digestion."
"Yeah, I get that," said Kevin. "I'm
trying to be more careful now."
He took one olive -- the thing
was the size of his thumb --
a few of the candied nuts, and
a square of what looked like
Green Mountain Gruyere.
Skiddoo tore off a bit of
the bread and slathered it
with a layer of goat cheese,
then passed that to Kevin.
It was mind-blowingly good.
The bread itself was chewy
and fragrant, studded with
crunchy little seeds, and
the cheese gave it all
a bright, tangy note.
The gruyere was good,
too, soft and smooth.
The olive was creamy
and complicated, so Kevin
went back for another one.
The candied nuts tasted
like apple pie spice and
of course maple syrup.
The pitcher turned out
to hold the cucumber drink
that Kevin liked so much.
Finally he sank back into
the cushions with a sigh.
"You had enough, dude?"
Skiddoo asked him.
"Yeah, I'm good now,"
said Kevin. "Thanks
for feeding me. I don't
want to put you out."
"Don't worry about it,"
said Skiddoo. "I like
taking care of people.
It's why I'm a trip sitter."
No wonder he had done
so well in helping Kevin.
Skiddoo cleared away
the remains of their snacks,
and then he carefully carried
the tray back down the stairs.
Aimlessly Kevin ran a hand
over the opium table, down
one curling leg, and across
the deep nap of the carpet.
Soft footsteps padded up
the stairs, and then Skiddoo
folded himself next to Kevin.
"Now there's a long face,"
said Skiddoo. "Would you
like to talk about it, or just sit
with the feeling for a while?"
"I don't know," Kevin said.
"It's all such a jumble inside."
"Mmm," Skiddoo said with
a nod. "That can happen."
"I just feel like I've ruined
my whole life," Kevin said,
putting his head in his hands.
"I got into uppers, I can't
go back to college, and I've
thrown away everything."
"Maybe not everything,"
said Skiddoo. "Even when
it's raining, you know the sun
is up there somewhere."
"But my parents will
think I'm a total failure,
because I am," said Kevin.
"I feel so lost, and I don't
know how find myself again."
"Your self isn't something you
find, kid. It's something you make,"
Skiddoo replied. "And your self
is made of choices, the way
a building is made of bricks."
"I don't understand," said Kevin.
"How can choices make a person?"
Skiddoo grabbed a basket of Legos
full of loose bricks and part of a wall
stuck on top of a foundation plate.
"It's like this," he said, bouncing
a handful of loose bricks in his palm.
"You have all this stuff in your life.
Everything that you see around
you is something that you could
learn from and build with, or not."
Hesitantly Kevin reached out and
stirred the bricks with a finger.
"Like what?" he whispered.
"Anything," Skiddoo explained.
"Your actions become your habits.
Your inclinations become your traits.
Your thoughts become your beliefs."
As he spoke, he sorted out a little pile
of bricks for each of the statements,
then clicked them into columns.
"Every choice that you make
changes your materials a little bit,
which affects what you can build and
what it will look like," Skiddoo went on.
"What you choose to build with, and
what to build, is entirely up to you."
"But my parents already invested
so much in me," Kevin said.
"That's what parents are for,"
said Skiddoo. "It's their job
to set you up for life and give
you the resources to live it well --
not to live your life for you."
Kevin hunched into himself
and sighed. "They're going
to be so disappointed now."
"That's their problem, kid,"
said Skiddoo. "This is your life,
not anyone else's. They already
have their own to worry about."
"You don't think I'm a failure
for dropping out of college?"
Kevin said, looking up at him.
"Nah," said Skiddoo. "That's
not a failure, that's a choice.
Now if you flunked out instead,
then that would be a failure.
But that would be okay too --
it would just mean that maybe
college isn't the right path for you."
"I don't think that it is," said Kevin.
"It's just messed up my entire life."
"So you're making a wise decision
by leaving now, before you do
flunk out, or get any sicker than
you already are," said Skiddoo.
"I'm not -- I'm not an addict,"
Kevin protested. "I'm careful.
I switch around so I don't get
too stuck on any one thing."
Skiddoo flipped a hand
over and back again.
"Well, that's partly true,"
he said slowly, "but
it's also partly false."
"What do you mean
by that?" said Kevin.
"You may not have
a habit for this or that,
but you've been using
some sort of uppers for
so long now that you don't
recall how to slow down,"
Skiddoo pointed out.
"I can too slow down,"
Kevin argued. "I'm not
going anywhere right now."
Skiddoo just looked at him.
Kevin followed the gaze and
realized that he was flipping
a brick over and over in
his hand, and hadn't even
noticed he was doing it.
"Shit," he muttered, and
put the brick in the basket.
"It's okay," said Skiddoo.
"You'll be all right. It's just
going to take a while to get you
slowed down safely and comfortable
in your own skin. You'll get used
to it again. I'm here to help you
through the process, if you want."
"That's ... probably a good idea,"
Kevin admitted. "Thanks for offering."
"It's what I do," said Skiddoo. "You
need someone to keep you grounded,
just like you would during a bad trip."
"There's my life in a nutshell,"
Kevin grumbled. "A bad trip."
"Bad trips don't last forever,"
said Skiddoo. "Eventually you
come out the other side, and you
learn something the Universe
felt you needed to know."
"I guess so," said Kevin. "It
still doesn't feel good, though."
"That's okay," said Skiddoo.
"Here, look at it like this --"
He started sorting bricks
again, picking out the colors.
"You didn't like the way that
your college classes made you
feel -- that heavy business stuff
really weighed you down," he said.
"So maybe today, you decide
that you don't want to build
with the red bricks anymore."
Skiddoo pushed those aside,
then waved at the basket.
"You've still got plenty of
other bricks left," he said,
then piled up another set
of bricks in multiple colors.
"Could be you don't like
how the uppers make you
feel either, so you might
toss the orange bricks too,"
Skiddoo suggested next.
He put the red and orange
bricks back in the basket.
"I already finished some
of the classes, though,"
said Kevin. "If I've already
used some red and orange
bricks, what can I do now?"
The stoner picked up
the partial wall then pried
a red brick and an orange brick
off the top of it, leaving gaps.
Then he put the two bricks
on the table and flicked them
away with the tip of his finger.
They flew across the room,
pinged off the wall, and then
landed on the shaggy white rug,
where they both disappeared.
"Just like that," said Skiddoo.
"Back in spring, you were
a college student, and now
you're not anymore. If you
don't like what's in your life,
then change it until you do."
"I don't know how," said Kevin.
"I've just been following the plan
for my major and minor in college,
and now that's totally fucked."
"Do you hate all the classes
that you have ever taken, or
just your recent college ones?"
Skiddoo asked. "That will tell you
how big a problem you truly have."
"Only the business ones," said Kevin.
"I liked my minor fine; it really kept me
going during the hard times. That's
what got me on the Peace Trail."
"And the Peace Trail probably
saved your life," said Skiddoo.
"I doubt you would've made it
much farther down that road,
as burned out as you are now."
He traced a gentle finger over
the jutting bones of Kevin's wrist.
"Yeah," Kevin said softly. "Tell me
something I don't already know."
"We have all kinds of classes here,
from sessions you can sign up for
to just learning things from someone
you admire," Skiddoo replied. "A lot of
that is self-awareness and enlightenment.
So pick something and explore it, try it on,
see if it feels like part of you or not."
"It's that simple?" said Kevin. "I
thought it would be harder. At least,
people make it sound a lot harder."
Skiddoo shrugged. "They're squares,
what do you expect?" he drawled.
"Introspection makes them itchy, so
they're not used to paying attention
to who they really are inside."
Kevin thought about his classes
and his parents. "I can see why not."
"Well, now you know that you don't
want to be like them," Skiddoo replied.
"That's a start. You can't solve a problem
until you recognize that you have one."
"I can't be like them," said Kevin.
"It's killing me. I know that now."
"We'll get you better," said Skiddoo.
"You've taken the first steps toward
a brighter path, and we'll give you
as much support as you need."
"Thanks," Kevin said, daring
to lean on him just a little bit.
"I think I'll need a lot of that."
"Everyone does, sometimes,"
said Skiddoo. "Nobody's born
with all the answers. We have
to fumble our way to them as we
go along. That's just how it works --
and it's why we need each other."
"I hope it works," said Kevin.
"At least I have choices now.
That has to be better than before."
"It's your life, kid," said Skiddoo.
"What do you want to make of it?"
"I don't know," said Kevin, "but
I think that I want to find out."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear elsewhere.
see_also_friend. It also fills the "Addiction" square in my 9-1-24 card for the People with Disabilities Drabble Fest Bingo. This poem has been sponsored by janetmiles. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series. It follows "Not Until We Are Lost" and "Come to a New Point of View" so read those first, or this won't make much sense."What You Choose to Build With"
[Afternoon of Saturday, July 14, 2007]
Kevin woke with a dry mouth,
a faint headache behind his eyes,
and no idea where he was except
that it felt incredibly comfortable.
Sitting up, he found himself
in a beautiful bohemian room
with a peaked roof overhead.
Late afternoon light slanted
through the windows to fall
across a polished wood floor
and a fluffy white area rug.
Kevin himself lay on a row
of velveteen cushions that
seemed to serve as a bed.
It was softer and cozier than
the one from his college dorm.
"Welcome back to the waking world,"
Skiddoo said, unfolding his long legs.
"Did you have a good nap? You
looked like you needed one."
"Um, yeah," Kevin said, trying
to remember what happened.
Then it all came crashing back.
"My life is over," he groaned.
"I am fucked, so totally fucked."
"Oh, I don't know about that,"
said Skiddoo. "How about
I get us some snacks, and
then we can talk it over."
"I'm not hungry," Kevin said,
then recalled how good the food
was here. "But if you want, okay."
"It will help," Skiddoo promised,
and went down the narrow stairs.
Kevin scrubbed his hands over
his face and tried not to think
about blowing up his whole life.
He used the bathroom and
splashed water on his face.
Skiddoo came back with
a full tray and a pitcher.
With one foot, he hooked
a weird little wooden table
whose edge reminded Kevin
of Victorian trim winding above
curved legs that ended in paws.
"What is that?" Kevin asked.
"It's too low for an end table,
and too small for a coffee table."
Skiddoo grinned as he set out
the snacks. "Opium table," he said.
"They make good plant stands, trays
for breakfast in bed, or pretty much
anything when you're sitting on the floor."
One bowl held olives, while another
looked like candied nuts. Several types
of cheese -- including a spreadable log
of goat cheese -- piled on top of the tray
alongside an assortment of crackers
and a small loaf of homemade bread.
Kevin's mother never cooked. She
preferred to pay people for that.
He would bet that Skiddoo had
baked the bread himself, although
he might've gotten it from a friend.
It smelled so good that even Kevin
was tempted, despite his low appetite.
"Don't try to stuff yourself," said Skiddoo.
"Uppers will bork your whole digestion."
"Yeah, I get that," said Kevin. "I'm
trying to be more careful now."
He took one olive -- the thing
was the size of his thumb --
a few of the candied nuts, and
a square of what looked like
Green Mountain Gruyere.
Skiddoo tore off a bit of
the bread and slathered it
with a layer of goat cheese,
then passed that to Kevin.
It was mind-blowingly good.
The bread itself was chewy
and fragrant, studded with
crunchy little seeds, and
the cheese gave it all
a bright, tangy note.
The gruyere was good,
too, soft and smooth.
The olive was creamy
and complicated, so Kevin
went back for another one.
The candied nuts tasted
like apple pie spice and
of course maple syrup.
The pitcher turned out
to hold the cucumber drink
that Kevin liked so much.
Finally he sank back into
the cushions with a sigh.
"You had enough, dude?"
Skiddoo asked him.
"Yeah, I'm good now,"
said Kevin. "Thanks
for feeding me. I don't
want to put you out."
"Don't worry about it,"
said Skiddoo. "I like
taking care of people.
It's why I'm a trip sitter."
No wonder he had done
so well in helping Kevin.
Skiddoo cleared away
the remains of their snacks,
and then he carefully carried
the tray back down the stairs.
Aimlessly Kevin ran a hand
over the opium table, down
one curling leg, and across
the deep nap of the carpet.
Soft footsteps padded up
the stairs, and then Skiddoo
folded himself next to Kevin.
"Now there's a long face,"
said Skiddoo. "Would you
like to talk about it, or just sit
with the feeling for a while?"
"I don't know," Kevin said.
"It's all such a jumble inside."
"Mmm," Skiddoo said with
a nod. "That can happen."
"I just feel like I've ruined
my whole life," Kevin said,
putting his head in his hands.
"I got into uppers, I can't
go back to college, and I've
thrown away everything."
"Maybe not everything,"
said Skiddoo. "Even when
it's raining, you know the sun
is up there somewhere."
"But my parents will
think I'm a total failure,
because I am," said Kevin.
"I feel so lost, and I don't
know how find myself again."
"Your self isn't something you
find, kid. It's something you make,"
Skiddoo replied. "And your self
is made of choices, the way
a building is made of bricks."
"I don't understand," said Kevin.
"How can choices make a person?"
Skiddoo grabbed a basket of Legos
full of loose bricks and part of a wall
stuck on top of a foundation plate.
"It's like this," he said, bouncing
a handful of loose bricks in his palm.
"You have all this stuff in your life.
Everything that you see around
you is something that you could
learn from and build with, or not."
Hesitantly Kevin reached out and
stirred the bricks with a finger.
"Like what?" he whispered.
"Anything," Skiddoo explained.
"Your actions become your habits.
Your inclinations become your traits.
Your thoughts become your beliefs."
As he spoke, he sorted out a little pile
of bricks for each of the statements,
then clicked them into columns.
"Every choice that you make
changes your materials a little bit,
which affects what you can build and
what it will look like," Skiddoo went on.
"What you choose to build with, and
what to build, is entirely up to you."
"But my parents already invested
so much in me," Kevin said.
"That's what parents are for,"
said Skiddoo. "It's their job
to set you up for life and give
you the resources to live it well --
not to live your life for you."
Kevin hunched into himself
and sighed. "They're going
to be so disappointed now."
"That's their problem, kid,"
said Skiddoo. "This is your life,
not anyone else's. They already
have their own to worry about."
"You don't think I'm a failure
for dropping out of college?"
Kevin said, looking up at him.
"Nah," said Skiddoo. "That's
not a failure, that's a choice.
Now if you flunked out instead,
then that would be a failure.
But that would be okay too --
it would just mean that maybe
college isn't the right path for you."
"I don't think that it is," said Kevin.
"It's just messed up my entire life."
"So you're making a wise decision
by leaving now, before you do
flunk out, or get any sicker than
you already are," said Skiddoo.
"I'm not -- I'm not an addict,"
Kevin protested. "I'm careful.
I switch around so I don't get
too stuck on any one thing."
Skiddoo flipped a hand
over and back again.
"Well, that's partly true,"
he said slowly, "but
it's also partly false."
"What do you mean
by that?" said Kevin.
"You may not have
a habit for this or that,
but you've been using
some sort of uppers for
so long now that you don't
recall how to slow down,"
Skiddoo pointed out.
"I can too slow down,"
Kevin argued. "I'm not
going anywhere right now."
Skiddoo just looked at him.
Kevin followed the gaze and
realized that he was flipping
a brick over and over in
his hand, and hadn't even
noticed he was doing it.
"Shit," he muttered, and
put the brick in the basket.
"It's okay," said Skiddoo.
"You'll be all right. It's just
going to take a while to get you
slowed down safely and comfortable
in your own skin. You'll get used
to it again. I'm here to help you
through the process, if you want."
"That's ... probably a good idea,"
Kevin admitted. "Thanks for offering."
"It's what I do," said Skiddoo. "You
need someone to keep you grounded,
just like you would during a bad trip."
"There's my life in a nutshell,"
Kevin grumbled. "A bad trip."
"Bad trips don't last forever,"
said Skiddoo. "Eventually you
come out the other side, and you
learn something the Universe
felt you needed to know."
"I guess so," said Kevin. "It
still doesn't feel good, though."
"That's okay," said Skiddoo.
"Here, look at it like this --"
He started sorting bricks
again, picking out the colors.
"You didn't like the way that
your college classes made you
feel -- that heavy business stuff
really weighed you down," he said.
"So maybe today, you decide
that you don't want to build
with the red bricks anymore."
Skiddoo pushed those aside,
then waved at the basket.
"You've still got plenty of
other bricks left," he said,
then piled up another set
of bricks in multiple colors.
"Could be you don't like
how the uppers make you
feel either, so you might
toss the orange bricks too,"
Skiddoo suggested next.
He put the red and orange
bricks back in the basket.
"I already finished some
of the classes, though,"
said Kevin. "If I've already
used some red and orange
bricks, what can I do now?"
The stoner picked up
the partial wall then pried
a red brick and an orange brick
off the top of it, leaving gaps.
Then he put the two bricks
on the table and flicked them
away with the tip of his finger.
They flew across the room,
pinged off the wall, and then
landed on the shaggy white rug,
where they both disappeared.
"Just like that," said Skiddoo.
"Back in spring, you were
a college student, and now
you're not anymore. If you
don't like what's in your life,
then change it until you do."
"I don't know how," said Kevin.
"I've just been following the plan
for my major and minor in college,
and now that's totally fucked."
"Do you hate all the classes
that you have ever taken, or
just your recent college ones?"
Skiddoo asked. "That will tell you
how big a problem you truly have."
"Only the business ones," said Kevin.
"I liked my minor fine; it really kept me
going during the hard times. That's
what got me on the Peace Trail."
"And the Peace Trail probably
saved your life," said Skiddoo.
"I doubt you would've made it
much farther down that road,
as burned out as you are now."
He traced a gentle finger over
the jutting bones of Kevin's wrist.
"Yeah," Kevin said softly. "Tell me
something I don't already know."
"We have all kinds of classes here,
from sessions you can sign up for
to just learning things from someone
you admire," Skiddoo replied. "A lot of
that is self-awareness and enlightenment.
So pick something and explore it, try it on,
see if it feels like part of you or not."
"It's that simple?" said Kevin. "I
thought it would be harder. At least,
people make it sound a lot harder."
Skiddoo shrugged. "They're squares,
what do you expect?" he drawled.
"Introspection makes them itchy, so
they're not used to paying attention
to who they really are inside."
Kevin thought about his classes
and his parents. "I can see why not."
"Well, now you know that you don't
want to be like them," Skiddoo replied.
"That's a start. You can't solve a problem
until you recognize that you have one."
"I can't be like them," said Kevin.
"It's killing me. I know that now."
"We'll get you better," said Skiddoo.
"You've taken the first steps toward
a brighter path, and we'll give you
as much support as you need."
"Thanks," Kevin said, daring
to lean on him just a little bit.
"I think I'll need a lot of that."
"Everyone does, sometimes,"
said Skiddoo. "Nobody's born
with all the answers. We have
to fumble our way to them as we
go along. That's just how it works --
and it's why we need each other."
"I hope it works," said Kevin.
"At least I have choices now.
That has to be better than before."
"It's your life, kid," said Skiddoo.
"What do you want to make of it?"
"I don't know," said Kevin, "but
I think that I want to find out."
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes appear elsewhere.
(no subject)
Date: 2025-03-26 04:20 am (UTC)Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-26 09:27 am (UTC)Sooth.
>> being surrounded by good people helps a bunch! <<
He needs it. I don't think he could've bootstrapped himself out of this.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-27 10:32 pm (UTC)Re: Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-27 11:22 pm (UTC)Yeah, that poor kid was running on fumes. O_O
>> He's lucky as hell he landed where he did.<<
True. He wouldn't have made it much farther.
However, it's not all luck. He did manage to choose a compatible minor in college, and find a summer program that made him feel better. Peace Trail isn't just for activists and pacifists. It's also a bit of a safety net for kids like Kevin who are getting burned out running the rat race. Emerald Mountain Glen is just one of many communes and other organizations that connect through that and other programs. It gives people a lot of lifelines to grab. That's deliberate, and it shows in how the residents respond when someone shows up in distress. They've seen it before and know how to handle it -- which is a choice on their part.
Showing things like this gives people in L-Earth a chance to see what a healthier society looks like, and pieces that are replicable with extant resources. If they choose.
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-27 11:53 pm (UTC)Re: Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-28 01:00 am (UTC)Re: Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-28 02:02 am (UTC)... on the other hand, the King's Master of the Hounds LOST HIS SHIT when I automatically snapped PUT that away YOUNG SIR & the pup DID
Re: Thoughts
Date: 2025-03-28 03:22 am (UTC)You'll get better with practice.
>> I do wind up some pretty cool places, though. You know the white fayhounds with the red ears? <<
<3 Underhill.
>> GUESS WHAT ELSE IS RED. GUESS HOW I FOUND OUT.
... on the other hand, the King's Master of the Hounds LOST HIS SHIT when I automatically snapped PUT that away YOUNG SIR & the pup DID <<
ROTFLMAO!!! Good for you.
... they'll be telling that story forever.