Short Film Review: Bent Out Of Shape

I used to do these all the time. Let's get it. :3

Bent Out Of Shape

So the story starts off with a seemingly uniform neighborhood. A whole bunch of squares everywhere. A square woman and her kid are sitting on the porch when a circle girl moves in. She looks like a Sally to me so I'll call her Sally. Sally brings color to everything and rounds out everything. Right off the bat, I'm loving the visual metaphors. The Square Mom is very aversive to Sally, which is very understandable seeing as she basically infected the square girl. Also she tried to shake with her left hand. Back in my village, she basically just declared war. 

Anyways, Sally continues trying to get in with the square people. Square Mom is not having it. But the kid is curious, and also miserable. They have a bike with square wheels, of course she wants to meet the round girl. After one really close call where the kid starts literally transforming, Square Mom builds a fence. While I understand the metaphor at play, I'd do the same thing as a mom. Because what do you mean my child touched you and is now going through metamorphosis. 

So Square Girl doesn't listen. She climbs over the fence and now everyone is round. Hooray! 

This is actually a pretty tame start to use to continue these. I don't really see a deeper message except to just be open to new things. It was quite enjoyable and the colors are pretty. 6/10.

Whore

Yesterday, while on break--

from pitying myself--

I saw a note. For a date.

An address. "Don't be late."

So today, I called off

and dolled my best doll

and saw myself through the gates.

I walk in, lights dim. 

The rose bushes, trimmed. 

For a second, I almost felt safe.

I'm quick to undress.

Faster than the rest.

Honestly, I don't know why.

I bare my spirit for yours,

hoping that for sure,

your heart, on mine, you'd place.

I stand there, naked,

waiting, faded--

there's always a chance that you'll flake.

"Whore," your tongue whips.

Every inch of me--flinch.

And you tear your gaze away.

I scrunch at my rolls,

my trauma, my soils.

I dumped it all in hopes you'd erase.

Slowly I accept 

that you'll never undress

and I'll never see more than your face.

So I carry my soul

and I idle alone,

looking around just in case.

All I want is to be seen,

and to equally see,

so then a whore, a whore I must be.

Break

When I was a child, I once said shut up in front of my father. My brother did something, I can't remember what. Immediately, he corrected me. That was bad word, we don't use bad words, especially not on people we love. I didn't say shut up again until after my tenth birthday. I was so mad that day. A boy at school told me I was a thot. I didn't know what it meant at the time, but people around me started laughing. I was so embarrassed and so confused. I allowed myself to step out of character.

As the years passed, I've found I have very different values from my parents and treat language very differently. If they saw what I said in my day-to-day, they'd have a heart attack. However, I've always remained careful in what I say to loved ones. I hold so much back, I become a glass wall ready to shatter with anger. I've noticed that people don't really care much for broken glass shards. Even when you piece it back together, it's still considered a hazard. 

So now I ask myself, how do I not break? How do I release my words while containing my composure? I haven't had much practice. Turns out that when you only talk to people who care about you, you don't have that many arguments. All I really have is time and space to reflect. And a bludgeoning urge to put indescribable feelings onto a paper. Or a screen. Digital media is slowly disappearing, after all.