Tag! (you’re Id)

 
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.