Nature vs. Nurture

I thought for sure I could manage the explosions, they were, after all, mines I laid myself. Carried like newborns, cradled rather, like Christmas ornaments or glass China seconds away from shattering, I placed them all with careful consideration. These were mine, these buds of anger, cracking the dirt like seeds straining to see the sun. I sat back to watch, trembling. Have I sewn seeds of things I will grow to regret? When the time comes, will they explode in my hands as I struggle to find them before my enemies pass? Will I protect them once again? Or stand in silence, the proud owner of their wrongs; a machine they have created, their prodigy child, perfect replicas of their sin. Are we just patches of experience molded by the quick hands of lust, rage, gluttony, fear, negligence, and disgust? What of nature, what of innocence at birth? I'm not sovereign in my own body.

"I also have in my mind that seemingly wealthy, but most terribly impoverished class of all, who have accumulated dross, but know not how to use it, or get rid of it, and thus have forged their own golden or silver fetters."
-Thoreau