Canoe

Image source: https://pixabay.com/en/wooden-handmade-traditional-indian-3162105/

It’s a slow burning ember
Like when building a canoe
Burning away the inside
And slowly scraping the ashes out
Until a useful hollow shell is left behind

Except my hollow shell has no use
It has no purpose or function
A human cannot be a canoe
Because a human is a living being

But so was the tree until it was felled
Chopped up into pieces
And a fire was set burning inside.
And people will say “what a beautiful canoe”
Not understanding the beautiful thing that existed before
which was destroyed to make it.

A canoe has only one use,
Maybe a few more if someone is creative
It’s meant to serve until it breaks
Then it’s thrown away

A canoe that was taken from a beautiful living tree
Chopped down
Burned out
Made hollow and ‘good’
Good because it was now thought more useful.

But what is more useful than a tree?
Beautiful in it’s own serenity and able to stand on its own
It provides the very air you breathe
Shade
And sometimes fruit depending.

But what does this all have to do with me?
I’m a human being not a tree.

It’s a slow burning ember
Slowly hollowing me out
The useless bits are scraped away into a pile
Of painful molten mess

Until you think I am useful.

What was wrong with me before?