Author: Lala
•Sunday, September 04, 2011

Disillusionment, the cruelest sensation,
Dreams dashed so gently.
I had my hope, my expectation,
And worked so diligently.

I wanted that yogurt in my hair,
The cracker crumbs stuck to my chest.
I smeared banana everywhere,
and tossed my food around: all the rest.

But oh! the pain. The wet cloth wipes.
I cannot say the thousandth part of what I feel.
But I try.  I cry to the heavens: hear my gripes!
Save me from this cleaning! On me should be my meal!

The cold, implacable Dad continues his heartless task,
To my entreaties he is deaf—he ignores my plea.
I can never get the thing for which I ask,
and am left to mourn for what will never be: a messier me.

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3 comments:

On September 5, 2011 at 11:23 AM , Jenny said...

Love it! Keep trying, Rianne, and you may yet get to cover yourself in your lunch. Maybe try when no one is looking?

 
On September 6, 2011 at 3:05 PM , Melinda said...

Hahahaha. Oh that is funny.

 
On September 8, 2011 at 10:25 PM , Ellen Sorenson said...

She is destined for mud baths and jello slinging--or at least poetry writing. Well done.