BAbY BLUE

A baby is born, its life is celebrated, joy and happiness ensue. Imagine it from the babies perspective after the “what the fuck is this place” it gets nothing but love, there is some pain but when it cries it gets a hug, not so bad, I am helped 24/7 through my pain, in the main, I grow and grow and I can talk and every action I make has a great reaction, my first words are treated like an Olympic medal and when I walk I get rapture and joy, my parents tell their family and friends and even exaggerate. But when does it change? When do I grow an opinion or a discovery that shatters my view and a fatal blow into ego I go I go I go, now I am controlled by thoughts and fears, nothing is real and it soon to tears, I hit my teens and life is a mess no more for me of that mumbo …god bless, I know Santa’s not real its all been a lie who are my parents they cant be mine, now more confusion as adulthood sets in behind a grim dirty curtain lays behind my smug grin, I am all empowering now I have had sex and its something I like, finally I find a worthy cause to make this here life a place to sin and fit in, shifting the pace I turn to myself a mirror is my new home found in this place, talking with swagger and finding new words a new funky hairdo and jewelry to match, I am all important I know stuff now, the truth and the history the politic row , clown. Now I sense of society’s path, a grey see through drape all mockles my wrath I can see past the misery blind but I chose to stay where I find my own mind, keep me in colour and new fancy drapes and I will see you in hospital late, did something stupid but this time a mess, keep me from feeling that sort of distress, you did when I came here but why do not now, is it the growth of my very own political clown, drown,  cry as I do I still do not learn, buried in hamburger jelly and Pearle, sell me a river or was it down one, I’d do it to mother if it got my self on, keep it yourself and be all alone, study the one who drive the bus here all alone, a clown and a baker a bottle machine, who finds the work for the animal regime, fights within fights begin in your head or within theirs if you’re not there yet.. but believe me my son that day will a dawn and unhappy be some but most of all all.