Taking cuttings

I’m born

To be born again

In another form

Half mine half his

But all mine

Am told

By

Religion?

Is that the word

For family

Friends

And strangers too

They think they know me better

Maybe do

But they must struggle

To believe

They know my mind

Inside

Like I do

I can see

The walls

And read the veins

Stretched below the surface

That spell out

So clearly

That I am not interested

In that kind of end

But

I don’t know what I think

As I don’t know what I thought

Before I was told what to think

Because I didn’t know how to know

Because my brain was still pliable

Taking on whatever shape

I was passing through

So how do I know what I think?

Maybe you’re right after all

Maybe I’ll grow into it

And it’ll grow into me