That Kid

Not programmed to comply –
cannot tolerate oppression:
a pressure cooker
ready to explode

Do-gooders sit up
straight and smile
encouragement:
I slouch defiance

Don’t ask me to respect
that which is disrespectful –
my fuse is short
of that I’m certain

Don’t slot me;
leave me –
creative inspiration
is not lacking here

I’m a free agent
a incorrigible scamp –
authority doesn’t scare me
’cause I’m beyond control.

(That Kid, first appeared on One Woman’s Quest II, June 2017. Found poem here. Image my own)

Published by

VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

15 thoughts on “That Kid”

  1. Oh I do LOVE this one… Your poem should be the epitaph on my grave stone…although I don’t believe in grave stones!…Maybe carved into a tree next to where my ashes will be scattered on top of a mountain in Wales. Thank you:)

    Liked by 1 person

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