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2. The Mould (Big Feelings)


2. The Mould I’ve always tried to mould — mould myself, mould my children, mould my life into something society approves of — like a brick mould: oil first, then sand, then the clay mix. But the anger-soft clay slams in and splashes out, never fitting, too much, too little, coming back to hit me in the face. 

 

2. The Mould I’ve always tried to mould — mould myself, mould my children, mould my life into something society approves of — like a brick mould: oil first, then sand, then the clay mix. But the anger-soft clay slams in and splashes out, never fitting, too much, too little, coming back to hit me in the face.

 

2. The Mould I’ve always tried to mould — mould myself, mould my children, mould my life into something society approves of — like a brick mould: oil first, then sand, then the clay mix. But the anger-soft clay slams in and splashes out, never fitting, too much, too little, coming back to hit me in the face. 

 

2. The Mould I’ve always tried to mould — mould myself, mould my children, mould my life into something society approves of — like a brick mould: oil first, then sand, then the clay mix. But the anger-soft clay slams in and splashes out, never fitting, too much, too little, coming back to hit me in the face. 

  

2. The Mould I’ve always tried to mould — mould myself, mould my children, mould my life into something society approves of — like a brick mould: oil first, then sand, then the clay mix. But the anger-soft clay slams in and splashes out, never fitting, too much, too little, coming back to hit me in the face. 

 

2. The Mould I’ve always tried to mould — mould myself, mould my children, mould my life into something society approves of — like a brick mould: oil first, then sand, then the clay mix. But the anger-soft clay slams in and splashes out, never fitting, too much, too little, coming back to hit me in the face.

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