Poem: Man-Child

You mature,

but child-like, you stay,

no longer afraid of the darkroom,

but still scared of the unknown,

comfort and safety, you crave like a babe and his blanket,

following the steps of others, not wanting to go your own way,

just as a boy holds the hand of his father to cross the road,

at first, slave to your father’s words,

for the ease of following is greater than of leading oneself,

follow the words of your father,

become a man,

then as a man, follow the words of your new father,

your boss, your company, your government, your nation, your ideology, anything and everything that makes you subservient,

anything and everything that takes responsibility away from your hands and puts it in another’s,

anything and everything that stops you from facing the absurd life,

that whispers safety in your ear, that tells you “it’ll be alright,” “everything will be fine,”

that gives you permission to think, act and speak,

now you can play the victim,

now you can play innocent,

play the child,

shielded, cowering at the hip of your mother, fetal position, your protective leader moving for you, your group becomes your mouth and you repeat after it:

“I am free,”

but in chains, those words lose their charm, their meaning, their glow,

but show your soft skin and be proud, smooth cheek, not a scar on your person,

the shape of a man,

mistaken for one,

think that you are,

but all the while, the behavior resembles a child,

the man-child born every day,

societies pawn, like clock-work, the conveyor belt of children,

all one has to do to see it,

look at your own reflection, into your eyes,

do it before the father calls.

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