Pro-Antagonism

I’ve been an antagonist

towards my favorite people

and even still,

memories of those instances

pour over me, thick and oily,

tough to remove.

I don’t like to be reminded

that I was a child once,

that I sat with legs limp over the edge

of my mother’s bookshelf;

frozen but watching.

It’s the growing process,

I’m told,

and while I’m forgiven,

I can’t seem to release myself

from the threshold

of preadolescent tantrum.

I wasn’t alone,

but that’s not my concern;

don’t these patterns repeat,

and am I conscious enough

to feel them coming on?

Am I mature enough

to slam the brakes

before they fail?

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