From Those Innocent Beginnings
My anger and how that is expressed,
Is inherited.
Yes!
From an initiation process.
My parents donated sperm and a womb.
With an implantation done.
Allowing my birth and breath to breathe.
With some uncomfortable yelling...
Heard by everyone.
So deliberate,
My lungs stunned!
And from those innocent beginnings,
I heard comments made...
About which side of the family I was most like.
From nose, to eye color...
And hair grade.
'...he's got 'good' hair like...? '
Who I reminded them of...
An uncle, or an aunt,
Or a relative held in 'Im not speaking to them'
Family capitivity!
With a temperment no one claimed.
Except bestowing upon me,
My father's first and last names!
With an understated but delared ownership.
I was 'his'...
When being 'hers'
Presented reasons to be pissed.
And, of course...
I was the receiver of those, 'If you weren't born comments.'
With an occasional running away from home added.
My sister and I were latchkey kids.
So we were the ones left...
Home alone sometimes.
To leave the required stamp of approval,
By a surrounding, dysfunctional environment.
Which upon reflection...
And observed after understanding,
That 'stirring up' of youthful independency...
Is the source of my success.
And I am happy as I age,
To confess it.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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