You tell me, stay in school.
Push me into subjects
I dislike. Tell me, do well,
so I can sleep and eat
and weep, freely. Forever.

Yet you, you did none of
that. You blew your life
away on smoke rings,
round the back of
school bike sheds.

Never have kids, you chant.
Yet you brought me
into this world at nineteen,
planned and decided and
chosen, whatever. Forever.

Kids ruin your life, you cry.
And did I ruin yours?
A permanent reminder
of what could have been,
where you could have gone,
what you should have seen?

I mean, it's obscene.
I know you cherish me.
Your cherubim. Sixteen and
high-achieving. Your darling
daughter. Forever.

And maybe it's because
you know I could do better.
But I guarantee, you were
told this once too. And
perhaps it disheartened you,
pushed you to rebellion.

Or perhaps this is
encouragement you never saw?
Motivation you had so
wished and hoped and
dreamed for?

And so, you are a hypocrite
with good intentions.
You want me to live
the life you never did,
go places you never could.

I am the you of the future.
I am you reborn, forever.