For the ages poured, As cement. Enough of being discontent. A pane of glass… And words that pass… Remind me now; rescind consent. Long and lost… As a dream you can’t remember. You know it was significant But otherwise erased I don’t imagine… Selfies in December Can’t suffer through a single view This battery is spent. Now empowered, Standing there. With unchanged face And brand new stare… I watch the same old window. New photons filter through. The atmosphere I’ve nurtured, Split fuchsia and blue. I know the bonds, the binds, the bends… Shared experience and friends. And what we’d do. To reach justice. For each other. I hate my hands for reaching out. But they’re cursed with blood from factory farms. My fattened sense of self import. Too heavy for my age worn arms. I can’t butcher anymore. But I’m still the craftsman too. The lines we blur… Signs that infer… That you’ll find judgement too. And when that sinking feeling grips… The Angels show you mercy. The demons recognize that you are grand and they are worthy. The grace I could not boldly grasp. “You made this bed”, in subdued rasp. For all the talk of letting things just be. Acceptance sails away from me.
Tell me about a time when you were misunderstood.
Very thought provoking words my son.
As a foster child I was of course
Misunderstood. No framework or experience with family cohesiveness, I always felt lost. And the lack of experience as a child and also my foster parents only knew what they were taught by their parents.