Shoots and Ladders

Before some fool let me know that you boys have dicks, I thought the only thing you carried was a stick, and me, a doll.

It was then or shortly after that I knew we where never going to be on the same side.

There was never again to be balance.  However slight the difference, one side would always be raised by the weight of the other.

When I was on top…

He would be at the bottom.  Climbing up.

I stand there, looking down at you, looking up.  And I can’t help but think, will we ever stand on even ground.  Play by the same rules.  Fight for the same prize.

We know that a game requires two or more, must be 8 years to play, must be this tall to ride.  What the instructions neglected to impart is how bad it feels to win and how glorious loosing will be.

And like age and like our childhood boardgames and like all things ancient and profane, we tire of paying it any mind.  This love game. So the rules change.  Our actions cloud with the residue of time.  We become opaque.  And again, the game is renewed.

Now I find that the rules bend just like my back.  Real or a lie, the word is only a sound made by people who sadly believe they have mastered a game created by gods who crave folly like humans crave love.

What fools we mortals be.  The pawns in a war of our own making.  Slaves to an invisible master.