The loving, vibrant life I try to give you won’t be fair,
finding your ground won’t be easy on this never-ending, spinning orb.
Although I keep you safe and sheltered in this, hand-made dome,
it can’t protect you from the damage of natural disasters.
Rules aren’t meant to be broken because if you break them,
you’ll end up tumbling down a steep, rocky cliff with nothing to gain but pain.
Sticks and stones may break your bones, and other words can break through your innocent, fluorescent bubble and leave you with a litany of tiny scars.
Crying under the secure, warmth of your home won’t lessen the blow from that whirlwind of turmoil and heartbreak.
Drowning in a burning elixir and fading into a cloud of toxic smoke will only numb the aches and it will dim your glowing light, killing you rather than healing you.
Cutting yourself off from this dysfunctional reality will only bring you damp, cold, darkness to fend for yourself and nothing survives on its own.
No matter how much hatred bubbles up like hot lava inside of you,
remember who was your home,
remember who cared for you,
remember who gave you life,
Prompt: Write a poem about the things you’ll tell your future children someday