In my father’s house

The house was always silent and so I

sought refuge from solitude in drawing.

Art allowed agency, it was my way

to delve deep inside my own true being

since you would not be with me. I gained skill

but then you vetoed art – I must do French;

I read indiscriminately to fill

the vacuum left once I quit my work bench

and grew cultured to develop my mind

but then my complex thinking you’d dismiss –

again my self’s agency you’d rescind

though it was you who forced me to be this.

Fathers, encourage your sons lest they

finish up allied with your enemy.