Desire gestating, growing, giving birth:
Delivery of all that waiting and hoping.
But sometimes, getting what you wanted
Is like sneezing with your eyes open.
What a useless, torturous, dangerous skill!
Who would long be impressed
By something, that honestly, is pretty gross
And not, rather, tell you, “Give it a rest!”?
It serves no purpose, accomplishes no good,
And runs the risk of bodily harm.
Why on earth would you not do something—anything—else?
Why would you not yourself be alarmed?
Is there not something better, something more useful,
Something more beautiful you could do?
Is there no goal, however small or mundane,
That could make you and others better or new?