Extreme Versions Of Our Own Selves, how We Want Our Own Children To Be, even If It Drives Them Insane Poem by James McLain

we plant dreams in their heads,
twist the knobs just enough,
tighten the screws of perfection
as if life is a machine
and not a rickety carnival ride.

we hand them blueprints,
drawn in shaky lines of our failures,
say, "here—build something better."
better than our shabby houses,
better than our tired, aching backs.
we want them to fly
but clip their wings
when their flight looks different
than the one we imagined.

then we sit back,
watch them unravel
on stages we never dared to stand on,
and call it love.