One Hand Tied Behind the Metaphor
AI Generated image One Hand Tied Behind the Metaphor I stepped into the ring of rhetoric with one hand tied behind the metaphor— a silk scarf of symbolism, double-knotted by my own cleverness. The crowd loves a handicap. They cheer for constraint like it’s moral fiber. “Write with limitation!” they cry, from the bleachers of abundance. So I jab with allusion, uppercut with imagery, try to keep my balance while my free hand flails like a windmill auditioning for relevance. The metaphor, meanwhile, is smug. It smells faintly of lavender and superiority. It whispers, “Compare yourself to something bigger,” and I do, a teaspoon fencing a thunderstorm. I could untie it, of course. Call things what they are. Chair. Loss. Tuesday. But where’s the pageantry in that? Where’s the tasteful fog? Instead, I dance. Half-grace, half-gimmick. Every sentence a compromise between muscle and mist. And if I fall, well, at least I’ll have something poetic to blame it on. ----- This ekphrastic poem's ti...
