Running hard and
pounding pavements –
trying to escape my roots;
Damaged, ultimately tainted.
Who wouldn’t,
when
Mom’s a basketcase;
Dad an alcoholic
to boot?
I have no friends.
I can’t talk to them;
And not because
that door’s not open…
Moreso because
I don’t want to be like them,
and yet somehow still –
I’m hopin’…
Things will change.
I tell myself this;
Not sure at this point if
I really believe it
or my forced ignorance
is
unhindered bliss.
I still have my kids to raise
and wondering if they feel
the same ways
about me…
Keeps me up
for days.
I can’t help
but surmise
that maybe
I’ve fucked this all up…
Lateness of the night
as decided by fireflies –
While they sleep,
I refill my cup.
It’s only insomnia…right?
In a tumbler
or two, maybe three…
Solitude is dangerous,
it don’t give us
Us free.
It hurts to consider
I’m much like my parents,
selfish and bitter
and…
Unable to stare “it”
in its eyes –
Never once have I really
been good at goodbyes.
But today is its own change,
though I know that seems strange –
One day my children
will explore untapped wilderness
of lonely desperation;
Unrepressed, raw, and deranged.
I can only hope
what they find in those
shadows
are [the] refrains needed
to overcome,
rather than to simply just
cope.
I’m running, I’m sweating,
I’m hot as hell…
Harder and faster,
and faster, still –
toward all my bullshit,
it all rolls downhill…
an unlikely avalanche
of censorial guilt.
Welcome to the house
that my pain built.
I’m moving up, rising above;
All I can think to do
is pour into them
all my patience
and unconditional love.
Legacy is cyclical,
generation(s) of ritual
branded into us
with blood, and also, victuals.
Bones only hold the tired,
quiet as that’s kept…
Small wonders my father and mother
ever truly slept.
Kayfucius 