Who was it that said be careful of what you ask for? Who so seductively put those meek words together hiding the immense weight of what that phrase means? Who ever thought I, such a strong declarative proclamation could so naturally be curled in to a textbook fetal position? I don't know the answer to either of those questions, but I've wondered. I wondered as Wonder Woman at first. Then my bracelets corroded and all I could do is wonder as Alice in this new land. So mysterious. It's completely frightful especially when you can't even grasp the last whispers of the Cheshire Cat's fog. Here you can be big or small...completely your choice. But old notions of Neverland keeps your Peter close. Always having to be small is so close to your lens that its clearly the only possibility. Well... At least here in Plato's Cave. If only I could wake from the illusion of holding the picture too close for detail. But my mother taught me that this was the only proper way to hold a picture. And we must be proper...at all costs. She'd never forgive me for a little dirt on the ruffles of my Sunday's best. Not pristine is not to be loved. It's not even to be wanted for the dirtiest of deeds. So A+B equaling C I'm in Wonderland worshipping the twiddling. Because anything of me is non negligible. I desperately hope though my heart knows better that the cake will make me big and strong. Peter just mocks me. He says, "I told you you'll be small forever" as if that's the answer. I still try the cake and immediately regurgitate like a satisfied picnic fly while only seeing the shadows on the walls of the cave. If I could only turn and place the picture in a frame.
