He's Hurt I stand there looking at him.
It is a confusing, yet entirely interesting evolution of facades provoked by an isolating and affected childhood. Yes, he had suffered a great deal, and his eyes divert when asked of something before the eternal cloak came over his body, his mind, his eyes. A time, I assume, that renders him incapable of intimate moments with friends, much less loved ones. This evolutionary facade now fuels the assassin that rogues his self-esteem in the deep dark. I can tell his child was fervently playful through the cracks in his smile, innocently surrendered unknowingly when he gazes through friends. I can see now that time has warranted his emotional arrest holding him captive to a deep brim-filled pool eager to spill over. But further I can watch his emotions play on his face dancing like shadows in a cave waiting for liberation. Even now I can see the hairs on his arm folded over perfectly like signs in a corn crop. And then his physicality is lost in symbolism to me, as if the language of vision is deconstructed upon his objectification. You see, his youth corrupted his present adult and he wears the mask very well. So well, in fact, that fleeting discourse seems natural and eloquent, that work, love, and friendship are seamlessly woven into a tapestry that the passerby can see. Look close and everything melts, falls apart, yet just so in a beautiful way. Look closer and the once guarantor of happiness and jubilant reserve becomes the harbinger of despair.
But with all the pain behind the man comes the inherent human ability to mend the past in order to save the future. My profession will allow me to help those who want to be helped. I have suffered, and thankfully so. It has allowed me to empathize, it has allowed me humility, and the courage to walk my life with more certainty. The professors call us zealous student psychologists “Wounded Healers”. Not the most flattering of titles, I know. But I get it. #Psychology #Perception #My #Thoughts #My #Writing
It is a confusing, yet entirely interesting evolution of facades provoked by an isolating and affected childhood. Yes, he had suffered a great deal, and his eyes divert when asked of something before the eternal cloak came over his body, his mind, his eyes. A time, I assume, that renders him incapable of intimate moments with friends, much less loved ones. This evolutionary facade now fuels the assassin that rogues his self-esteem in the deep dark. I can tell his child was fervently playful through the cracks in his smile, innocently surrendered unknowingly when he gazes through friends. I can see now that time has warranted his emotional arrest holding him captive to a deep brim-filled pool eager to spill over. But further I can watch his emotions play on his face dancing like shadows in a cave waiting for liberation. Even now I can see the hairs on his arm folded over perfectly like signs in a corn crop. And then his physicality is lost in symbolism to me, as if the language of vision is deconstructed upon his objectification. You see, his youth corrupted his present adult and he wears the mask very well. So well, in fact, that fleeting discourse seems natural and eloquent, that work, love, and friendship are seamlessly woven into a tapestry that the passerby can see. Look close and everything melts, falls apart, yet just so in a beautiful way. Look closer and the once guarantor of happiness and jubilant reserve becomes the harbinger of despair.
But with all the pain behind the man comes the inherent human ability to mend the past in order to save the future. My profession will allow me to help those who want to be helped. I have suffered, and thankfully so. It has allowed me to empathize, it has allowed me humility, and the courage to walk my life with more certainty. The professors call us zealous student psychologists “Wounded Healers”. Not the most flattering of titles, I know. But I get it. #Psychology #Perception #My #Thoughts #My #Writing
