A Creator's Discontent

Last night, you gave me a band

that you treasured, while you nurtured me.

Within amniotic a burden grew from the embryo.

While I expand, and you contract

our signature was lost.

Our ring resided in only,

the hinges moving the figurine

that performed a play to correct mistakes.

a canvas painted with the hues of your diet

with memories reflecting off my cheek.

soft dough kneaded into you.

With the aphorisms you taught,

how long did you plan to hold on?

I also gave away my band

joints broke as the figure became sentient;

it began to act its own play,

each painting began to be dirtied

as my experiences began to pile,

resisting gluten developed

from ideals kneaded into me,

and with your words

poems began to form,

signing a bill of divorce.

Even useless children,

unable to say their own name,

will decide to leave your side;

too small to be alphas

and confidence unlike lemmings:

they couldn't keep hiding their antlers.

We took each stride alone,

missing the connections credit.

It was a loop that created disaster

made of a murdered family.

Each creation plagued the city

and like every artist

you were discontent with the product;

only seeing it’s fault,

but a creator’s job is to make;

It's the viewer's job to love.