Napoleonic nature, nurture but don't baby me.
Like you were. As a student. Of a prodigal.
Now I'm scribing last pages, pained ink.
I'll pull out what's left like infected teeth.
Look what I've done,
nurturingly please.
How far I've come,
like a babe-wanting-feed.
Altruistic in motive, but I eat everything:
the hand that offers, the food it brings.
How can I justify?
a deeply human self examining lament... it brings to mind another question... Is it possible to ever completely lose that baby nature that puts me at the center of my own universe?
ReplyDelete