I was not born a child.
Strange. I was allergic to all milk.
I was openly resented for this
Growing up.
My bones are stronger for this.
Never broken one.
I don’t drink it.
I was raised as an orphan in my family.
I was taken in, hosted, taunted and cast out.
I was not like any other. I was an only child,
a broken mold.
Bearing no resemblance. A reassurance,
that nothing contagious was mixed in the kool-aid.
I was ugly, I was sexy, I was young, I was powerful,
I was smarter than most, I was curious and sensitive
I was giving and giving and gave it all away.
I lied. I faked it. I made and lost it.
I was nothing until I redeemed what
I was worth and after taxes,
it was not equitable to fulfilled.
Half-full and half-cocked.
This fair skin is not thin.
I have grown vicious through exposure
and ferment my sugars.
I have soured and forgotten too often
before I remember, I am
Lactose intolerant and hormone infected.
(But as far as childhood dreams go-
I do like the new milk commercial on TV).
Painting by Harold Gilman, 1918 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
