I was a little boy running around in a playground and falling over and scraping my knees. She was the headmistress that made the new rule that we were no longer allowed to run around because we might hurt ourselves. We had to play games such as statues because it was deemed safe.
I was the little boy made to memorise and recite poetry, and who fucked up because he was out climbing trees and running around putting scabs on his knees, so he didn’t memorise his lines, consequently he was made to stay in while the others did P.E. I was the boy who sadly watched out of the classroom the window while the others threw a ball around in the sunshine. But I never learned. I always ended up enviously peering out of the window and not learning the fucking poetry.
I was the young boy made to wear a uniform and politely touch my cap, who instantly became the dirtiest, scruffiest, snotty-nosed kid going as soon as I got home.
I was the adult who never grew up.
Happiness is birth.