problem child

i was born premature, and raised on iv.

the tubes would feed me my allotted amount,

but i cried because i wanted more.

and thus i was diagnosed a problem child.

i’d daydream in class and they’d call me distracted

just because the paper on my desk was still blank.

i’d scribble in the answers, unsastified and unsatiated.

i’d write my own questions by and for and to myself,

but searching for problems to solve was called searching for trouble.

oh well—i was already used to the time-out corner.

so i’ll daydream in class.

so i’ll stay up past my bedtime.

so i’ll eat my greens and then some.

i’m way too hungry for their own good.

ambition or friction or obsession or addiction,

they can call it what they want.

but they don’t know what it’s like to wake up starving.

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