Its just a poem I wrote, see, I have A.D.D. and I'm gay... and my parents were being really harsh and mean to me, so I started writing this poem. By the time I was done, I had been outside in the winter cold for like a full hour crying, so bummed because of the degrading things they said. (it all went down about a year ago.) Forgiving Myself Forgiving my father for telling me the truth That was the hardest The grief it caused me broke past all my barriers and defences, his words shredded through me and would echo sharply in my mind. Awakening my memories He liked to bring it up just to remind himself that the burden was not his. He would push it away. But it festered over my heart like fouled water in a muddy still puddle The kind you find in third world countries, where a child would most likely sit by, and swat flies that tickled and annoyed his ear… (upset with himself) There I go again. Wandering off. He calls me lazy and ignorant. But I couldn’t help it. I wish I could make him proud. I wish he could understand why I act this way. But I cant blame him, even though he blames me. I’d like to just sit back and look at the stars again, like old times. Pretend life hadn’t fallen into shambles. I can imagine a kiss on my cheek. But I can only imagine it. You see… I was abandoned. Not physically, but emotionally and verbally. You could say I was disregarded. Imagine how the old rotten chair felt when he was replaced by the brand new one. Well that was me. They expect me to perform like I am perfect. But I forget things, I don’t know why… I sometimes can’t get started with a task, I so easily get distracted by other things. My father says there is no more time to be distracted… They expect me to be perfect. And not make any mistakes. …Ridiculous. It’s like a butterfly with snipped wings that struggles and squirms on the ground while everyone watches it try to fly. It’s hard to fly with snipped wings. They began to ignore me, as if they didn’t even know me. And acid rain would poor, not from clouds but from me. And it burned. I could feel the dampness in my pillow night after night. It might have stained had I not flipped it often. But acid doesn’t stain does it? It erodes. And all the pollution I took in, would gather in my mind, creating a different kind of silent storm, and pour out on my pillow, in my room, all around me. No, it didn’t stain It eroded. And so my soul, that sat so happily on the bench so long ago, now sat in thought. Wondering what I am missing. Those are the effects of tears that burn I suppose. Those are the reasons I sleep, even today, with the sheets over my head. And fair enough, the judge’s balance is here, yet I deny myself the satisfaction of blaming them, but mostly him. I end up pouring all the blame on you. When my dad threw the pickle jar When he broke the window The bruises. My friends face when he heard them yelling. And finally the pieces of me that I will never recover Lost in deep cool mud Feet away from the clipped butterfly To heavy for the rotting chair To bright to shine near my aching clouds And there it is, The one thing I can count on. You, my pillow. And although your kiss isn’t real My cheek is warmer from your caring embrace. And I forgive you, for what they ignored, but please know this There’s never been a single dream that I have ever had, that you have ever missed.
That is simply amazing. And yet the hope outshines the saddness, I can see your potential/ longing for something better, and usually that's key - always have some hope, whatever way you can.
thanks , I have more, I will probably making a blog section with things I write, and I will probably write more hot gay love stories now that I'm more comfortable with myself.... J/K!! im glad you enjoyed it tho.
