What You Have Cooked Up
I am not here to burden myself,
by Lawrence S. Pertillar
With your insecurities.
Or have myself believe,
Your restrictions are for me to bleed...
I don't wake up with those perceptions.
Or reject my own reflection!
I will not distance myself,
To have my own identity
Be reason for my own indignation
With those inflictions...
That would thrill you if I conceived,
As an easy sedation.
My mama always said,
'Boy, you've got a hard head! '
I know that is what you would wish...
But 'that' on my plate,
Is not my favorite dish!
What you have cooked up for me to eat...
Since I am allergic to it!
And standing on my own two feet...
Has been a struggle.
But it is still my treat!
I can not swallow your existence!
My ancestors might have dealt with your limits,
But I am not that kind to have you mess with my mind!
I am not on a journey to find those sensations.
You are wasting your time...
I do not receive those invitations!
I am not blind.
Nor do I hunger for that to trap,
For your satisfaction.
Or to confine!
Just to hear you say before branding...
'That property there is mine! '
Those 'ideals' I don't regard appealing.
And as an appetizer...
I have left them far behind!