I remember when I was a girl, I use to play in the mud. I would grab it slowly and let it drip.
Until it built a piled city on my leg.
And I would repeat this
So focused and clear with my intention.
I wanted to create.
I wanted to play.
But you took this away.
You said my play was just a hobby.
You said no one would pay me to play.
And so I listened.
And with a tuck of my hand, I shoved my play into my pocket.
I didn’t know then, that you were scared.
Scared I wouldn’t graduate.
Scared I wouldn’t find a job.
Scared I’d turn out like “them”.
I didn’t know then, that what you were making me do was live the life you failed to.