Tell me I can have ninety-nine boxes
though the hundredth is reserved —
Certainly that’s the one I want.
Tell me I can choose from a mountain of foods
and I’ll crave the one denied, the one I vow
to leave alone. What is it that beckons
because Mama said no, even if that happened
a few decades ago? I deserve it,
it matters not it would be the death of me.
I want the lovely berries you say bear poison,
the forbidden fruit, the prize beyond my reach.
But it’s the scared child within who yearns,
who finds comfort in achieving that denied.
The part of me with self-respect
knows the loving choice, and wants that most.