I am sorry you believe me to be so naive,
Inexperienced, sheltered and unknowing.
I am sorry that you feel convinced that what you teach me,
is news to me.

I see everything, observe, and know.
And you don’t always know better than me.

Yet how can you judge me for my ignorance,
and how can you claim to want my protection,
When any potential experience is blocked
By the pane you’ve placed between me and the world.
I’m sorry that you need to place me below you
To feel so wise, and cultivated.

So cultivate me.
Sow me full of seeds, and water them well.
Or else leave me to become hard and impenetrable
Made of clay.
Or rather, let someone steal your land
While your eyes are turned.
They will till me, and make a pretty garden of me.
Would you fear that instead?

Just leave me to bear weeds and tangled shrubs
An empty lot long overgrown and overlooked
It’s the way I’d prefer it.
I will become a forest one day
A breathing, thriving enigma.

I’ll see everything, live, and grow
And you will never know what’s inside.