Internal Monologue Uprising — Summary

Except these people haven't any dominion over you that You don't hand to them yourself, In your misguided attempts at self-parenting

A seed cannot water itself, And requires the gentle warming touch of the sun And yet we try to raise ourselves in the shadows Of our own reprisals

We are children with no mothers Rushing through a well-lit world with our eyes closed

"Open Open Open your eyes!"

And the voice of our collective heart remains pleading

Just stop running for a moment, Hold your hands out to the void And dare yourself to feel

Show the whole poemHide the poem

Learn Poems app

Try the Learn Poems app

Everything from the website trainer, and more: new exercises, voice recording and sharing, reminders, quick review.

Robinson's speaker argues that the people who seem to control us only have the power we give them. The trouble, the poem suggests, is how we try to look after ourselves: we parent ourselves harshly, punishing our own mistakes instead of offering care. The seed image makes the point simply. A seed can't water itself, and it needs warmth from outside, yet we keep trying to grow in the shadow of our own self-blame.

The mood shifts from accusing to tender. We become "children with no mothers," hurrying through a bright world with our eyes shut. The repeated "Open" sounds like a plea, and the poem calls it the voice of our "collective heart," which suggests the longing is shared. The ending is gentle but firm: stop running, reach out into the unknown, and let yourself feel. The speaker comes across as worried and caring, urging us toward courage and openness rather than scolding.

Read also

More by C. J. Robinson

All poems
ContemplativeC. J. Robinson

The Closet Monster

Because of this, I've long since been a Fan of small spaces Many times, I've made my bed in the Nooks and crannies of those people
AngryC. J. Robinson

When I Grew Up

When I was your child I learned The saltiness of my own tears, I knew Which hours of the day And night
ContemplativeC. J. Robinson

The Top Of The Giant Oak

I was a boy when I first climbed the Oak, Whose branches were so vast They seemed to stretch out for hundreds Of feet in all directions