Deconstructing the Man-Child

Dolls and guns and building blocks,

Make-up, tops and Tonka trucks

Don't all make the most suitable toys

For the games of little boys.

Or maybe you're not a boy at all.

Maybe you're really a little girl.

You'll never make it in this world

If you don't toughen up and stand tall.

Little boy you're way too soft.

You've been too coddled.

You're not manly enough.

Hands straight, wrist's way too limp

Folks'll think you're a weakling,

A sissy, a wimp.

So what if you don't care for sports?

There lies your province

And you'd better conform.

Take your tears and stuff 'em down.

Who cares if you're hurt?

There are people around!

These feelings of yours, they have no place

Out in society

You have to save face

No matter the cost or what toll it may take.

Don't look at me like I've got you vexed.

We are the grown-ups

And we know what's best

Shapes in the Clouds

 

 Never was a fan of squares.

All those straight lines 

And sharp edges

Always seemed too severe.

But triangles just weren't my thing.

Too pointy,

Too pompous and ominous 

And rigid.

I tried the circle routine.

And that gave me boundaries... 

For a while,

But I mostly remember

Being dizzy all the time.

So maybe, I'm not meant to be geometric 

Never been good at fitting into the norm.

Perhaps what I need is something less electric.

I'd probably be better off with a more organic form.

Curves and squiggles,

That entice laughter and giggles.

A world where rhyme weaves tapestries out of riddle,

Where caterpillers hold court 

And cats play the fiddle,

Where myth and legend can cavort 

In fields of the Elysian sort.

So rather than passively feeling out of place,

I'm gonna migrate,

Find myself a climate

That's much more suited to my taste;

A land fit for an itinerant space case.