BROKEN

I wanted to figure, out

why I hated to cook,

so I went back a few years

and took a look.

 

 

I was young, barely four, but

an independent streak, had I.

I reveled in a house of

love, music, and song.

 

No foul words,

from my parent’s lips

did ever pass. Only

love, hugs, and kisses,

ya  know.

 

In my happy home, my

favorite toy was a stove.

I was told to play with

either Mom or Dad.

Why, I didn’t know.

 

Well, being who I am

and always was;

I plugged in my stove

while they slept.

 

I wanted to make

a surprise breakfast

with milk.

 

So I filled the pot

and felt so secure

as I boiled the milk

for cocoa.

 

I stirred and I stirred as

the smoke swirled around

then Daddy came in, in a rush.

 

I gushed, Daddy I’m cooking,

it is a surprise, is Mommy up yet?

 

My Father, with a crazed

look in his eyes, pulled the plug,

and yelled for my Mom.

Mother arrived, with a

that same look on her face.

 

Dad left for a moment and

when he returned

he cut the plug on my stove.

 

I looked at them

with a broken heart

and said, “Now it won’t work!

I’ll never cook again!”

 

I abandoned the toy,

that had no plug.

And to this day, I won’t

cook or play with a stove!