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I did not mean to Daddy, Daddy. I really did not mean to, it was an accident, please forgive me. I'm your little kitten, can't you see, it's all written over me.
When we were tiny we got upset with tiny things
Dropped ice cream cones, going past the cereal aisle
Without boxes of imagined joy.
Invisibility to a certain boy.
Our parents telling us
NO WAY!
We need perfume under our arms.
Pimples where we think perfection has to be.
Then we are free.
The world is our oyster, and mostly
There are pearls: Ski trips or sun trips,
Hot and cold,
Jobs, noisy mobs screaming at screaming bands.
Meals of modern age ambrosia.
Our magicians are chefs and we worship them
With burps and sighs of pleasure
When we aren't getting pleasure from other places,
Faces first but we move down as we move up.
Until reality hits us in the face.
Time, which we ignored as kids
As it sat upon our tiny shoulders,
Begins to grow fat on the days it eats
Of our lives. It thrives, weighs us down
As we slow down and then...
The deaths kick in, kick us in the head,
The heart, in those parts we only share
With some. We mourn, we weep,
We grow numb. And we realize
We have an expiration date.
It might be random,
it might be our chosen path,
It might be fate.
But we waver between ignoring it,
Hating it
Or fearing it until it fills every aspect of our being.
The ultimate obscene
Or for a few, the end of a satisfying book
We sense there in a quiet nook
Knowing all it gave us and what it took.
At this point the beginning laughs at us.
And we again are fixated on tiny things.
What we had for breakfast,
Who those strangers who visit us
With sad smiles are.
Until they no longer come.
It is in the smell of bread,
Maybe of happy mud,
Or of places we feel we used to know
Back when we had a soul...
There is a vacuum at the end.
Behibs