Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Day Three


Look; an entirely appropriate sun,
As we gather ourselves to gleefully mourn
The Bad Should Ought Must.

A controlling parent, an ego state,
Habitual hangdog habitat,
The Finger-pointing Frowning Angry.

She cared for us destructively, nurtured
Us with blows about the amygdala
Shoulders up, hands on hips.

In six short weeks we've murdered her,
Redeemed the child that can't wish/hope,
No way! Begone the Please Don't Know Won't.

Be something else. Curious. Changeable.
Become the Yeah! I Want Wow Fun,
And bury her everyday in I Love Yous.




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2 comments:

  1. Anonymous5 April 2017 at 20:26

    'Blows about the amygdala' - we've all been there before. Superb.

    ReplyDelete

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