Color of Chocolate

Perhaps it wasn’t a matter of being unliked. The slightest slights, after all, were cause for reeling — who could put up with that.

“Your hair is the color of chocolate.” What did that mean!? The color of poop. No that isn’t what was said.

“Tetchy, touchy, sensitive.” Mothers can be so cruel. Seems like being a mother calls for far more considered thought. Some mothers use their children for projection. That can’t be good and can easily scar — a scar for life it seems. Little bodies bruise easily and contain all of the messages that formed their language from the start.

“She is cute isn’t she?” The mother said to the other daughter. What did that make her, chocolate-colored poop hair?

“You over analyze, you think too much, you’re far too serious.” So-called friends can be as cruel as mothers too.

Far easier to spool back up and away from that. Island living in a box of chocolate-covered Milk Duds. So what if it means a migraine.

So it seems that if the other mystery person is beautiful, or thought to be from words like, “beautiful ladies” even though no image is attached, it means that the one thinking can think, if they “think too much” that they are far, far less than that. That is the way that tetchy, touchy, sensitive people think. Ones that have been injured by Motherwork. Even if it is far from the truth or of no meaning or value.

Had there been an image and the image revealed that her arms weren’t as thin, or she had no butt or she was nothing like a “beautiful ladies”, all of a sudden, the tetchy person could think “I am so beautiful, why wouldn’t anyone like me!?” As if that is all that matters. Motherwork again.

By the time that she was twenty something, she was on her own and having her hair cut. And by that time, she had conquered some fears and met some men and decided that men were hardly worth the slights they bring. She was bright and blistering, not fond of taking prisoners — she could hold her own for sure with words of courage. The mother talk had faded enough and in spite of that talk she’d found her way, maybe actually because of. For certain mother was forgiven once she’d found the context.

“Your hair is the color of chocolate.” That had to be a good thing, but nice men still seem boring.

 

color of chocolate

 

 

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