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Curiosity killed the cat,
it was cursed and hurt and thrown away.
However, satisfaction brought it back,
it crawled it's way out of hell into the shine of day.
I believe inside we're all the cat
Fighting our way up to come back
But curiosity will entice, seem nice, and **** us again.
Now isn't that the loop of sin?
Just something I came up with from the popular saying
I wasn't raised to learn by myself
I was raised to lean on others for help.
I was told I could never go around or beyond
the corner of the block or leave the lawn.
I'm terrified of going anywhere, of standing on my own feet.
The way I was raised is evident in my skills.
I stayed indoors most of my life,
I watched the other kids from behind the windowsill
I never learned how to do the simplest of things
After my first fall on a bike, with a small little scrape upon my knee.
I was taught that if I can't do it once, there's no point in even trying.
Any opportunity I had to learn a basic skill,
was put to waste, as I was shoved aside after my first few tries and told,
"If you can't do it, I will."
Now I get in trouble, for the things I never knew.
As after every single attempt,
"Forget it, I'll do it," is what I hear.
When I'm told to do something that would be considered basic,
I require a detailed set of instructions so that I may achieve it.
With all these chances that I was completely ridden,
company was another thing that I was never given.
During all the summers, where I was all home alone,
despite it being mid-July, it was always freezing cold.
An only child is how I was born and raised.
I had full conversations with myself in fear of becoming bored.
I strive to be listened to, I strive to be heard,
I try and I try, yet I still cannot utter a word.
Told to stay silent, told to stay still, with no personal experiences
I have no personal will.
A poem from an only child

— The End —