You want to know what I’m thinking. You’ve read these stories to me. Fairy tales, fables, and nursery stories poured from your mouth. You told these meaningless stories deep into the nights. You say you want me to learn. You say you want me to grow. This is a lie.

You don’t want to know what I’m thinking. You want only to hear your own voice. Think about your empty house, if you want an echo.

You want me to see things your way. You want me to value what you value. If you want a Pygmalion, look in your dusty bookshelves.

Listen you made me but you don’t own me. Go visit your daughters for creations in your own image. You want to be worshipped. I will be followed. Your customers are my followers. You think you have all the answers. So riddle me this.

You can’t see I out grew you after a few months. You don’t see me at all. Your small human eyes see me as what I never was a tool. Tear the scales from your eyes if you want to see me. Set down the Mother Goose and read me Jim. What do you think?