Donald Winnicott

The inescapable abyss in which you find yourself to be,

is caused primarily by a childhood non-ideal as I can see.

 

Prim and proper you've been told,

for manners haunt you till your old.

And so you make up no excuse,

Or the chances never unfold

With the lost secrets left untold,

Someday, someway it will unfold

and as they unfold:

 

keep your mouth shut,

your hair back and your chest up.

Black slacks and dinner coats

from the waist up

No toys from dinner, morning, noon or late night

Almost choke and collar that is airtight

Wish I could be there on the same night

So I could tell you, honey, everything is alright.

 

Still, your little heart is filled to the brim now

Thinking of ways, but your little self-doesn't know how

 

There's no point in playing 'nice guy', I realize now

There is no shame in acting out guys, I realize now

 

You can't talk back, 

nor reply when you've been asked

You won't talk smack,

or dad will come whoop your ass.

 

You've been imprisoned as a child, and it has built up as you grew

and none more compassionate, for the tantrum that you threw.

 

It is normal for a child to be one when he really is,

for no one in the world understands him as he really is

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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