Toddling up
I'm a punk rock rapper
Wearing smelly, fabricated pants.
Feel the wrath of my anarchy
As my feet stomp and stamp.
I want to sell a song
Of a toddler’s tantrum—
With a big drum.
Bang!
Shouts and screams.
I fell asleep in my highchair
Eating ice cream.
---
Do you see where I’m going?
Can you tell where I’m from?
I’m a big, angry beast
Of innocent burden.
I'm gonna kick you,
Bite you,
And pinch you—
Scream till I’m blue,
Till the veins bulge,
Burst from my face.
Let me give you a real taste
Of what, from me,
You have no choice but to embrace.
---
Pure embarrassment
In the most public of places—
On the buses,
At the shops,
In the playground.
Power, power—
Give me the power!
Power struggle.
All I want is a cuddle.
At least, that’s what I want you to think.
I’ve got you under my thumb.
I’m gonna keep pulling at the heartstrings.
Boundaries?
I have none.
I wanna know what love brings.
I’m nearly two.
You should do whatever I want you to do!
You have until now—
What’s the matter with you?
I’m just starting out
In this messed-up world.
I am a product of you.
If you can’t take how I act,
Then the problem’s in you.
Be the grown-up.
Don’t grow down.
I’ll be good—
Just teach me.
Show me how.
Do you know who I am now?
I wrote this piece 17 years ago, inspired by the wild, beautiful chaos of raising my then two-year-old daughter. At the time, I was caught between exhaustion and awe — watching this tiny human stomp through the world with more raw emotion, power, and honesty than most adults dare to express.
This poem became a playful but potent reflection on toddlerhood as pure, unfiltered rebellion — a punk rock manifesto wrapped in nappies and smeared with ice cream. But looking back now, it’s also a deeper meditation on power, love, boundaries, and what we pass down to the next generation.
She’s grown now. And I still hear the echoes of this voice — not just hers, but my own inner child too.
This one’s for the toddlers, the parents, and the grown-ups still learning how to be.