i wish you would be happy with what i am
but it’s hard for you
because i’m cut from a cloth you find difficult, stiff and scratchy
i’ve laid myself against the hot iron of your expectations
so often that i’m pliable beyond requirement
and even i’ve started to believe that your way of being, is better
i’m willing to adapt and i even see the benefits
of taking risks, dreaming big, of doing and being everything that my weavers never apparently contemplated
sadly an unplanned douse of cold, watery reality is all it takes to undo the careful treatments we’ve applied
and your ensuing disappointment is felt in every limp thread
~
i silently implode with anger and disgust
at the state of my development
over which i had no control
until such time as control became synonymous
with a near-complete rejection of
the values and approaches of the people
who gave me everything i needed
to get here
nor of the west 