Cognitive Miscreants

My mother told me,
“You were a child once, you know”
But I don’t.
I was too busy blood-letting for bed wetting
Too busy staring out windows, filling empty silos
Like some kind of wheat would fill me–
Heal me.

I thought my brain could be a train
on tracks that could clack clack carry
me out.

But here I am—cognitive miscreant

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