Enough
It’s enough to be present, they say.
I don’t know when anything is enough.
“That’s enough already,” says the parent to the child.
Or, “You’ve had enough.”
But it’s never enough. Nothing is ever enough. I want more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more, more . . . .
Don’t
Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.
Don’t fit me into some box you have designed for me.
Don’t let me out of the box or I might run away and never come back.
I might turn into someone you don’t know.
Don’t let me out of the box.
Don’t keep saying “Don’t.”
Just don’t.
Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t’, don’t . . . .
Sometimes
Sometimes I get tired of myself and that’s when it would be a good idea to sample someone else’s world of pain.
Explore the bag of groceries my neighbor is carrying home and bake her roast piglet and serve it to her four brats and see how well they mind their manners and say their prayers and chew their food before swallowing.
Pat her mutt on the head and let it take a nip out of your hand when you feed it piglet scraps.
Take her mutt’s fleas home with you to your silent empty hearth.
Sometimes you have to leave home in order to appreciate it.
