Goldilocks conundrum

Sometimes I feel too big for this world, too gangly and spindly, with arms too long it knocks furnitures over, legs too wide it blocks passageways. Sometimes I feel too big, too big in fact, that everyone else appears too small, so small I can flick them away if I wish so, like ants stuck under the bottom of my shoe, or specks of dust wedged between eyes, like lint attaching to woolen cloths. Sometimes I feel big enough that I am no longer here nor there, but everywhere, all at once, on or around the same time, now, again, always.

But sometimes, sometimes I feel small. So small, in fact, that I am forgettable. Will the world notice my absence? Will it realise I am gone? Will my stubs for hands and legs that slightly protrude make a dent in the world, or will it simply bounce off of the land, a brief reminder that I passed by, and as to whether or not anyone will remember will be a question that only tomorrow will answer? Little Joy, they will think, maybe fondly, maybe with disgust. Little Joy, they will muse, do you remember Little Joy?

Sometimes, though, sometimes I think I am sized just right. I knock some things over, and some things I cannot move no matter how hard I try. Some lives I influence, others still I just bounce off of. Sometimes I go to people and tell them, Hello, How are you, May I stay for a while, Can I curl up and live in the palm of your hand, I heard it is safe and warm, and they will not notice, even when I pry their fingers open and I crawl in, and I will soon realise they would already have other people living there, or their palms are clammy, and I will leave, knowing not for certain, but knowing nonetheless, that I may not be welcome there.

Sometimes people will notice, and they will allow my littleness to nestle inside their palms, and they will say, Stay as long as you want, There is room for you here, and I will, and I will pray most fervently that when I become big enough to have hands that can become shelters, I will give the little ones home.

And so sometimes when I feel big and able and capable and stable, and while I am clumsy and distorted, and while I will continue to knock off tables and chairs, and people will look at me with concern or disgust or confusion, I will want to scoop people up in my hands, kept warm enough, and keep them safe, if that’s what they want.

Sometimes I feel too big, so big in fact that I am burdening the world, and sometimes I feel so small that it is as if I carry the universe. Sometimes, I do not want either, but people will need me nonetheless, and I will need them, too.

And more often that not, that’s alright by me.