Most of Me

Tiny life, with bits of me
and bits of the one I chose for you,
strung together, underneath
the inquisitive eyes I see you through.
Wily little smiles, copying us,
testing our knowledge, outwitting our words.
Questions I haven’t asked in years,
and answers I’ve never heard.

Keep us young.
Bring us back–
to finding joy in parking lots,
spiral stairs, magnolia trees,
checkered floors, and concrete blocks.

I promise you

I will not lie,

hide the truth,

cover your eyes,

use cute little fallacies to shut you up,
or doubt your ability to understand,
or pretend that I’m listening when I’m not,
or pretend that I’m not when I am.

Years before you’ll be conceived–
you are already more of me
than I am.

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