A Child in the Mind
by Miki Korhonen
Somehow I’ve managed to cut the cake,
Scrape the bullshit off, and gather myself
an astounding amount of magic into my mojo.
Maybe I have found my inner child.
I believe he’s with me when I write,
and he’s sitting right next to me
How to live my life
About my identity
But I know he’s disappointed in me
because I don’t feed him.
With no love or sympathy
I force my inner child to live on
dry hardened bread and stale water.
He doesn’t sleep on a bed,
but on the hard stone floor.
I know he’s smart,
he speaks eighteen languages fluently,
but he never uses any of them.
Some say he has no nationality,
while others try to bound him to one.
He’s tan and no one knows where he’s from.
There are times when he runs wild
and throws terrible tantrums,
when I see it happen I get real depressed.
I drown my sorrows in cold beer,
I keep them submerged until they draw
their final gasps of sadness.
When that happens my inner child wakes up cranky
and makes a lot of noise.
He screams, shouts, and wails as
he bangs his tiny fists against walls and doors.
I know it’s my fault,
but I’m always way too tired to care,
so I ignore him and eventually he stops.
All in all, I think he’s good to me
even when he punishes me for my mistakes.
He sticks with me and laughs at all my stupid jokes.
I think he loves me,
and sometimes I think
that somewhere deep in my heart
I love him too.