Sixteen Birthdays

This is a growing up story of a young boy, hope you like it.

Zero birthdays.

That was the day I was born,

I screamed and cried, terrified of the gleaming teeth that hovered over me.

Anxious to be set in one place as they all passed me around.

 

Two Birthdays.

I had all of one true friend out of the dozens of children who shared my cake.

Mommy and daddy sung their songs to me as they competed for the favorite title.

Dolls were given,

War was played amongst us as boys,

The house was loud, it was family populated with my friends.

 

Five birthdays.

Scream and shout, scream and shout,

They both walk out.

Mommy one direction and daddy the other.

I was too young to understand.

Paper was now the most important object as it dictated my life between them both.

One month here and another there,

Teeter tottering between them.

 

Seven Birthdays.

It was time to know the truth,

Mommy,

I said as I togged her attention away from a depressing book,

Why don’t you love daddy anymore,

I didn’t mean to say it was her fault.

The dark pools around her eyes showed that she wasn’t recovered.

She shooed me off as any mother would, and told me to not speak of it again.

Days had passed, and time dragged by until I asked once more.

Without warning I found myself on the ground,

My mother hovering over me,

Examining her hand in shock as I stroke the stinking sensation upon me.

 

Nine birthdays.

It had progressed as the years went by,

My emotions soon escaping from me,

One strike, two strikes, three strikes, four "

Sooner and sooner she becomes board,

Forcing me in dresses and rags,

And giving her favours as I licked her . . .

I couldn’t make of what was happening,

But knew that this was not what a mother was meant to be.

 

Eleven birthdays.

To my dad I went,

Feeling more at ease,

Knowing my mother was thirty days behind me.

The nights passed,

My emotions coming back at once,

And forcing my tears to jump out from their posts.

The bottles of beer were empty as they rolled around the floor.

And surrounded my father who was changed forever more.

Son,

He said; his voice at ease.

His hand whipped the tears from my eyes, and crept around to the back of my head.

Slowly his hand forced me upon his lap,

And I was forced to choke It all back.

 

Fourteen birthdays.

Mom and dad both found their ways to live with each other,

Their points of view to love one another,

It was me, I was their toy of the year, as they continued to beat me,

And force out my tears.

My head deep between thighs,

And my as painfully violated,

Day and night the torture passes.

 

Sixteen birthdays.

I found the knife in my hand,

Dripping in blood is how it all stands.

The two limp bodies floating dead on the floor,

Swimming in blood,

A smile came over me,

I knew what had been done, but I knew what had ended

What had begun.

I found myself walking in front of the men in their badges.

The knife in my hand, and a detailed map to fill in any patches.

One thing I testify, and this is the truth,

I regret nothing, this is how I grew.

I killed them both to escape such torture,  wouldn’t you?

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

I admit this sin't perfect, but I didn't want it to be too long, so I apologize now for the grammar and the choppiness of this piece of work, but I do hope that you found some enjoyment in this piece, despite it not being the best I've done . . . again apologies.

Reviews

[Emily]

I really like this one!!
Keep it up!!!

[B. Hudson]

really enjoyed reading. thanks for sharing

[Octavious]

I am glad you enjoyed it :)

[Kousika]

a reality picture of the modern families who are busy in their own life..
Great poem and good...

keep going and touch the sky..not the knife.. :))) Mmm...

[Octavious]

Thank you very much, I am glad you enjoyed it, and I'll try to stay away from the knives. :)

[Kousika]

Ha ha ha.. Thats sweet...