Nothing’s simple
Nothing’s easy
Everything’s difficult
Makes me queasy

About my life
That has no meaning,
It’s often melting
And sometimes freezing

I’m growing up
Constantly teething
Emotions and logic
The toys I’m eating

Hard to swallow
I’m always leaving
Running in circles
Returning easily

From me to me,
A verbal beating
The poems, identical,
Worth deleting

Thoughts cross my mind
As long as I’m breathing
They cross each other often,
Always seething

With rage, waiting
For me to engage
Other people, hoping
That a glimpse at this face

Will brighten another one,
Start a cycle of brightness
But drawing other people in
Takes more than politeness

Who knows what it takes?
What do you need?
If I knew what it was
I’d offer it, with speed

I disagreed.
I never knew how to act first
Is it loving, caring, like I am
Or should I go with the worst

And trust this instinct I have
That everyone wants a stoic me
Everyone wants me to march in line,
Never writing poetry

Knowing I’m supposed to be
Just another staring face
Offering words selectively
And only in the right case.

That’s what some people want
Is it theirs to take?
Am I a popular vote persuasion
Meant to act how they say?

No way. I’d rather just be myself
Teething, breathing, poetry-ing
Worse for wear, but oh well.
This human is not for sale