Me

As you get older you tend to look back at how you raised yourself and the benefits it had on you, maybe what you had to go through caused feelings that had to leave you to keep you sane.

I guess I'm a product of interrogation,

Intimidation and isolation.

I spent my life volunteering for the silence and aloneness,

My humble abode, my mind.

I uncover forgotten memories,

Things I don't like to think about,

Like bodies hidden in between trees.

I remember mom and dad crying please and why,

Why did the lady have to die,

All true stories.

My life like many,

Full of unpleasantries,

From being accused to almost having a brother uproot the family tree.

I don't look back on the photos,

It's never the best to have photographic memories.

Have you held your parents in your arms,

Only half their age, attempting to hold on strong.

It's not where a kid belongs,

Have you tried to put back together a broken house made of logs?

I had to relearn to care,

I don't desire love from all,

Uncomfortable to the receiving of hugs from words I said,

It's the contact that makes is feel better,

I sit and try not to punch the wall,

Kick at the doors,

I'm normally not this way,

Who is this stranger within me that gives the death stare?

Is my doppelganger,

A ghost?

What scares me the most is when the anger comes out as flames to burn the dinnertime roast.