You Didn't Do Any Of It

a newborn child wails along 

to the jotting of a pen on paper, 

cannibalised at birth; 

but that's just life. 

many moons 

and a bruise 

later, 

and the belly of this beast is haunted, 

"you must, you should, you can't, 

or the whole world falls apart!" 

but that's just life. 

"follow this path we made for you, 

only then will life be free" 

so the child chains itself tight 

by mummy and daddy's decree. 

every one of their ghostsstorm 

its empty, creative mind, 

and make themselves welcome hosts, 

and that's just life. 

"discipline, obedience, loyalty" 

hang on a wall 

right next to "freedom" 

and one unruly girl-- 

ugly, scary, foolish, and gleeful-- 

throws a single white egg 

and is taken away, 

so that class can go on, 

and that's just life. 

a test of robotic knowledge 

with all possible baggage 

is before the self-chained child. 

"build the heart of your worth, 

this is what we have given your life for," 

cry the echoes of mummy and daddy, 

not quite louder than the sound of sobbing 

in the exam room 

but that's just life. 

and so the child becomes an adult: 

conflict? its place is taken by panic, 

desire? been boxed up, far too chaotic, 

and change? "watch it, that makes you a hypocrite." 

and when finally, inevitably, it falls sick, 

"don't rest, don't worry; 

for even that we have a tonic." 

and with immaculate surgery 

life is removed from life, 

in its place 

this becomes life, 

so that one day on its lunch break 

it can look at the clouds 

and wonder, 

"why am i doing this?"