I walk through the doors,
Present the child with a tiny badge,
Yellow, white, purple, black.
I watch the smile spread across their face,
As I call them
"Captain; dear; Mx. Eli; child"
Do not tell me that they are not real
Do not tell me that they are confused
You have never known the inner workings
Of the mind of a child,
You dictate their thoughts and dreams and imaginary friends and fathers.
They are not confused
They know their mind
And they know the world they will grow up in
Will be nothing but cruel to them -
Nothing but cruelty to the little lost boys and girls and neithers,
Because if you cannot experience it then it must not be true,
And you must make up lies you imagine your father must have said
From his passive, uncaring position in the clouds,
Watching drama unfold like a game of Sims.
Tell me I'm going to hell. I'll see you there.
And never talk to my sibling like that again.