Id Poem by Goddo Faggotte

Its name was Id.
Id needed wiggle room
to wriggle
to writhe
to uncoil, flex and stretch out his
curled, pinkish-green, and moistly warm form.

Birthed in the deeply layered leaf litter,
having lain quietly still until
the clumsy, jelly-like yolk sac
absorbed,
Id now sought sunlight, and this he sensed
meant burrowing upwards
and out of the protecting nest.

Id-eas are exactly like this,
needing wriggle-room to struggle
t’wards the light and warmth.