The Meme in the Mirror

by jennwren

You came to be, remains a mystery, you see—

But shall we try to tell the tale, and set the answers free?

From womb to world, the mind was fed,

The lessons came in streams, most unsaid.

A cradle rocked with borrowed dreams,

Soft lullabies, encoded themes.

Then—click!—the mold, the thought was cast.

Your meme was set, your die, shape, held fast.

"Yes," said they, "this must be so!"

And lo—it dashed, too fast to know.

From papa's word and Opa's tales,

To Grandma's sighs and fabled fails,

These echoes shaped your aye and nay,

Your moral compass—high and away.

"Don't speak too loud, don't dance too near.

Say grace, be nice, and guard your fear."

A thousand shoulds, a million rules,

Not etched by tyrants—but by gene's pools—

Of neighbors, kin, and hearthside lore,

By culture's low hum and home decor.

The choir harmonized, "This way is right."

And stamped your mind with borrowed light.

The meme: that ghost in the neural net,

The auto-script you can't forget.

It leaps from thought to word to tone,

You speak, but not the voice you own.

So welcome, little one, so dear,

Come sit—there's much to learn and fear.

We'll load you up with sacred codes,

Then send you down the parenting roads.

They handed you the map, unlabeled, old—

Yet swore its lines were yours to mold.

"Go forth," they said, "be bold, be true,"

While stitching scripts inside of you.

The meme had roots beneath your name,

It whispered fate, but called it a game.

A lattice locked in DNA,

That sang, "You chose," though you obey.

Each thought you birthed, already born,

Each dream you dreamed, already worn.

You walked the path you thought you'd drawn—

But steps were set before the dawn.

And so it goes, this silent theme:

Not free will, dear—just free meme.

The mirror waits, it doesn't lie—

But look again, in time gone by...