Sandbox

You are a child in a sandbox on the beach, playing with Tonka toys. You scoot those borrowed trucks around in the grains, building your fragile castle. You left the pail and shovel you brought, trading them for whines about track marks in the sand. You think of yourself as a master architect, designing the next Taj Mahal with blueprints from assistants you deem unworthy. You envision the bare bones skeleton of the Sistine Chapel, caring nothing for the artist behind the ornamentation. You argue about the brush strokes, interpreting none of the statement the brush strokes make.

You brought these others into your domain, promising equal parts of glory. You send them to the corner to play alone, forcing them out of your arena with attitude. You brought them as servants, waiting for the moment to rip any of their obvious influence away. You focus on your piece of the puzzle as the apex, failing to see all of the parts as a whole. You compliment yourself, abandoning the notion of a team. You proudly pat your own back at your ideas, snubbing the many who have labored intensively on the construct. You take all the credit, claiming your shovel and pail as victors.

You enter the stripped cathedral into a grand contest, writing your participation on a small sheet of paper. You whisper the location of your masterpiece to the judges, suppressing the notoriety of those who might help direct people to it. You cannot even thank these valuable assets, insulting them for offering their unpaid time. You blindly ignore the professional skills of the friendly challengers, refusing to learn from your peers and elders. You are afraid to appreciate them, basking selfishly in the power of your own light for the win. You have already written your acceptance speech for an award that will never come, blaming the presence of trucks on the set when it fails.

You protect yourself from this defeat behind the apathetic sandbox barricade, avoiding the oceanic waves of critique. You use the wooden block of indifference as a crutch, peeking at the world with careless snatches to sneer at passersby. You see them looking in on you, thinking you are still somehow better off outside their ranks. You pretend to be so big, trying to play on the level of adults.

You are a child in a sandbox on the beach. I would throw sand at you, hitting all those remaining in your playpen. I could be the jealous adult, wishing he were still young enough to make immature mistakes. I could vindicate the theft, hurting the other unfortunate children that foolishly believe in you. I should not have become involved with you in the first place, realizing that you were still just a kid. I will only let thankful children borrow my toys, monitoring them from an instructional distance. I will give my art to adults, willing intellectually to delve beneath their surface. I will not be hurt by those like you. I do not play in that sandbox anymore.

originally posted on Myspace Nov 6, 2007 11:46 pm