I’m gawking
At the stalking offspring
Talking about offering
Cacophonies of thought
When more often than not
The self taught
Get bought off shelves
And sell for being themselves—
They don’t have to follow what’s hot
Or swallow their heart
Or borrow what someone else has got
They just
Simply must
Have fought for the part
That adheres wheels to their go-cart
Of sleek steel
That steers them astray from the usual course on the chart
They make a path
Engaging their enraging wrath
Caving— savoring Sylvia Plath
Playing with poetry
Building syllables with math
Until they’re at the pinnacle
Of slicing cynical prisms
With visions of optimism
And they can set free or imprison
With pens
Extend or end
Each sentence with any feeling
They can stiffen or bend
Lift up with a drifting carrier pigeon
Or send something sifting through what they intend
At that moment in time
Maybe
They’ll cement
Mary holding her baby
For the clucking chickens to abhor
Those who’re mucking,
Misunderstanding,
Exactly what their handing them.