Child at 22

By the efforts of two and the stomach of one, you were given the gift of life

With expectations that your birth would bring their trying life a new light

A quarter of life complete, and darkness binds you head to feet

Light no closer to them today than it was when you were a new born babe

 

Maybe I just have to find myself

 

You wanted to be a writer

A master of prose

And you DO write (yet nobody knows)

A stack of your work, yet your achievements are lighter

 

Maybe I just have to find myself

 

A doctor is what you strive to be

Six years you try to transcend those ABC’s

Tired parents and bankrupt siblings

Watch you; aimless, parasitic, child still nibbling

 

Still short

Still incomplete

Still no prize, no end, no shift in gears

 

Maybe- SHUT UP, YOU

And just do

 

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