Orphans, I’m afraid.
Hating showers with the kind of resentment
Usually reserved for the absence of god
Or, more rightly,
The impermanence of baptism
Cardinal sin:
Irresponsible slothful hopelessness
Cardinal joy:
Irresponsible slothful hopefulness
I never remember to stop confusing the true north
With my own.
Were we asked to grow up too soon?
Who asked?
Why, how, complied?
If complied
That should be
I think to see
Rebellion is childish
Whose child am I now?
Once upon a time
The world was real
I validate it personally now
(Like a parking ticket, like my faith)
Exploring a singular descartesian plane
Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Resolve me, please.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem