Enriched Childhood

 
 
 
I had to make do
with what I could get.
No, not like that.
Each waking felt like a weight,
yet useless to ballast me grounded.
Days, persistent grate
like tiny knives.
Cutting, bleeding, surreptitiously
drains vital energy
to keep me in line,
waiting
for unnamed reward.
I sleep fitfully.
Dark imagery.  I lust for your
lush evocations,
secret encodings of heroic desires.
My journeys so circumscribed.
Predisposition gates in.
I know there is more,
cruelly eluding destination.
Never deprived — always
provided precise
emptiness
inevitability requires.
.
.
.
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