Smothered

You talk to me,

like I’ve been lobotomised,

like the way that I’ve been traumatised,

means I love to be patronised.

Maybe I don’t mind,

maybe I like watching you

do everything you think I want you to do,

as if you know the rules.

I watch you,

without a single cue,

you cut up my food,

you lace up my shoes.

Don’t talk so slow,

little love,

or my ideas will catch up,

and I will soar above,

out of reach,

out of view.

I am a project for you.

The flour baby,

from your youth.

You think if you don’t let me die,

then I’ll survive,

and I never had the heart to say,

that my heart still beats,

whether you micromanage it or not.

Sincerely, Jennifer x