They build you, brick by brick.
You’re a pattern to master, an un-objector, a work of art made by them. You’re not hard to assemble, you’re sturdy when needed, you’re protection for the frail.
Shh, we must be quiet now: a simple sigh can cause a crash, a confused glance could crumble their creation. Each attempt from you to join in their construction is met with a slap of cement to seal you in.
No, you are not important now: be still, don’t smile, coax the brick in place. It’s a pattern, a rhythm, a routine.
There, now you’ve done it: the last brick to seal your fate.
You take pride in their accomplishment, but they themselves don’t know: “Well, hey now, what about you?”
You do your best to curve your lips, to pick up a brick to lay it down. But the construction they’ve built, they’ve taken too far: your presence is made of bricks, your body an impenetrable wall.