My Parents

I am irate
With my parents

They are unaware
Of how difficult they have made
Poetry
For me

They seem to have forgotten the
number one
Tool
In a poet's arsenal

They seem to have forgotten
That hundreds of poets have
Established
Their craft purely on
Their deleterious and
Stifling childhoods

It would appear that my parents
Are not in support
Of my poetry because they
Do not provide me with
Inspiration
For my writing

They are
Too loving
Too caring
Too supportive
To have much to
Write about

Unfortunately,
I am mentally sane,
Without horrifying childhood scars,
Without deep emotional conflictions,
Without hate and anger pumping through my
Circulatory system

It is a pity
That I have been raised in
An affectionate
Warm, Vibrant, and Encouraging
Community

I will never make it as a poet,
With an exceptional childhood

I have had it
Either my parents afflict me
With these conditions,
Or I will afflict myself

Until then
I must endure
The pain and suffering

And am forced
To have subjects
Such as this
For poems