A child knows what their parents need them to be.
They perceive what is absent within their mother’s hearts,
or what lacks from their father’s strength.
They become blobs of clay morphed by relentless hands.
This is the thing they fail to realize ;
those shapes they try and mold themselves into
were never meant for them.
They weren’t brought here to fulfill the needs of their nurturers.
That’s the beauty of a child-
they are empty slates
only meant to be filled by their own desires,
not to be tainted by handed down curses.
No longer can children hold on to their parent’s pain.
No longer should they feel responsible for alleviating it.
They must live for themselves
rather than for the lost children of yesterday.
They must learn to grow instead of heal,
to touch instead of mend,
to envision rather than see.
To live for tomorrow,
rather than in spite of it.