Before we quite knew who we were
there was nursery school,
to teach us who to be-
soft and compliant, whimsically.
Other schools came next, like locking stiles:
lower, middle, upper- where we learned guile.
Athletics were a distinguishing force,
to give us place; who stayed the course.
The games and playing sufficed our world
which yet was small, built around a lie.
But who or what was lying was unknown
(Though it is true, all children return home)
We thought ourselves quite free-
had locker room debates,
and gropings, on rare dates,
where sex was identity (though mind you, we were free)
It took so long to find ourselves,
deciding what to keep;
our lives were middling deep-
yet the learning curve was steep.
By the time we got it down
the rest weren't around,
and nothing was the same-
it was a different game.
And if none else could know
what lurked inside your mind-
they cannot see it now-
that's perhaps, of all, most kind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
u really are very good at whAT u do paTTI