I Pity the Child He Was

Somewhere deep inside all of us is the child we once were.

That  child is so often
too often
hidden
under layers.

Under layers of denial.

Under layers of
fancied sophistication.

Under layers of resume words.

Under layers of
carefully
curated
reputations.

But the child is there.

Somewhere deep inside our President, our leader
is the child he once was.

That child is hidden
under layers
of  denial.

Under layers of
opulence and extravagance.

Under layers of achievements
earned or invented or bestowed.


I think a lot about that child,
hiding inside our President,
inside our leader.

And I pity the child he was.

That middle child he was.

That confused child surrounded by
all the THINGS that money could buy,
all the STUFF
all the simpering voices
telling him superb half-truths.

How lonely was it to have been him as a child?

How empty was it
to have been
unable to tell
the loving friend
from the jealous?

How isolating was it
to have had
a father who demanded success
at all costs?

How confusing was it
to have grown up
hovering between
being told
he was everything
and yet not enough?

I've spent my adult life nurturing, guiding, helping to shape children
towards their future everythings and anythings.

In everything and everyone I have taught
the one thing that I tried to give every child
was the permission
to fail.

The FREEDOM to fail.

And once they failed
once they'd fallen,
I tried to offer them the strong hands
to help them back up
to try again.

The loving hands
and the honest voice
telling  the truth
especially when the child
didn't want to hear it
but needed to hear it.

I study our President,
this powerful, wealthy man
who is either entirely despised or entirely adored.

In his bubble of power and money
from which he can lure or purchase
adoration
I wonder...

does he have someone in his life
with the loving hands
and the honest voice?

Has he ever?

No, I may not like the man our President is

but I pity the child he was.