I am the square peg in the round hole,
Jammed in,
Stuck fast,
Placed there by youthful naivety,
Forced down by the weight of expectation,
Held in place by the pressure of life’s demands,
Hammered home by the repeated blows of round pegs
That, although appearing far too large to fill such a seemingly trivial hole,
Are really too small to even touch the sides.

Yet, even in the tightest grip,
It is possible to wriggle and writhe,
Tiny movements that, though causing damage, breaks and pain,
Gradually, imperceptibly, ease the bind.
The needle must break the cloth to form the stitches of repair.

I am still the square peg,
Plugging the round hole,
Missing parts of my surface,
Diminished,
Wearing hidden scars.

But now I have worked my way loose,
And although I cannot know the planes and slopes of the land that lies outside,
I have seen it in glimpses,
And I am ready to slide out,
With freshly rounded corners,
Ready to roll.

(c) Tim O’Hare, September 2023

---

About this poem: This is another poem that came up on me out of nowhere and very fast. In some ways it is a direct continuation from ‘It Is Time’ but whereas that poem is about recognising that a point of arrival has been reached, Square Peg is more about being ready to start out on the next part of the journey.