I’m going rogue—
unappreciated Life
becoming an Id Beater,
joining his·band
since Id’s a lousy, overgrown brat…
Id toys with me like a favorite, dilapidating plaything
a scene stager that knows-Id-all, and tells Super Ego
every chance Id gets
Id gets plenty,
A minor that’s F(n) major
Id’s scale made to order
and spoiled like carrion
Id does carry on
Never ever asking Y, strangely enough,
except when I·Z but I’ll
foil Id evening
sow,
I’ll
wrap Id’s cuts in badinage, and put Id in an
err-less
container, until Id behaves
…
A bit of add-vice
(don’t)
Don’t coddle your Ids,
for all people say they are just like you
or cater to ‘em,
they’ll wage tantrums
they’ll never stand down, if you do,
beating on ear drums the daylong
and are
quite likely to stay with you forever,
running up electric bills, and writing checks you can’t cash.
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