Self-Chastisement: A nursery rhymeDora C. Villarosa 01.29.04-Chicago, IL

"You take too much shit," I spit at myself,
as I sat eating shit with a spoon,
"I cannot hear you," I said, my mouth full,
and I whistled a nice, upbeat tune.

"Give me some space," I said to myself,
as I got out of bed in the morning,
"How can I get anything done
with you watching, and judging, and scorning?"

So I said to myself, "Are you kidding me?"
And I laughed, and I said, "No."
Then I twiddled my thumbs, and tapped with my toes,
And I whispered, "I really should go."

And I wondered, "Could I be serious?
Am I watching myself do these things?"
I stared my shadow, accusing,
I couldn’t be pulling the strings.

Well, I watched the TV and some movies,
I was sure it would start to make sense.
Then I said to myself in the quiet,
"Could you really be that fucking dense?"

I told myself, "You are outrageous.
You’re all haphazard motions and sloth."
Then I sneered and I snickered and grumbled,
"We ain’t cut from such different cloth."

Well, I wouldn’t believe that for a minute.
It’s plain that we never agree.
"Emotions fuel all of your actions.
I would not have you acting for me."

"So, I’m rash and hotheaded and crazy,
and petty and plucky and rude,
But you’re tired and boring and lazy,
reclusive and moody and prude."

I told myself, "You are pathetic,
You’re all jumbled up in the head,"
So I said to myself, and quite frankly,
"Go fuck yourself," I said.