You were forced to graze in your mother’s pantry and forced to gaze upon your father’s scowl
And all along all you could think was:
“How did my consciousness end up here, in these cells, with these donors of DNA?
Why not marvelous Marci’s blood or lucky Lucy’s skin?
Neither complain about their genes, though they do complain about their jeans.
Why did my soul have to spark to life in this sad sack of bones, hefty from the feedings, cowering from the snarls, bad at jokes?”
You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen
Yet you hold yourself in the mire
And nightly weep your way to bed
I’m thinking this may not work out
I really can’t be dragged down again for I’ve been dragged down before and I did not enjoy it nor did I grow from it nor did it teach me a damn thing. It was an entirely useless and cruel exercise.