Truth Of Our Matters

Sorry,
Not sorry,
Mom.
For my depression.
Half of the time,
I could barely feel the left side of my face whenever I think of how I was left neglected.
Those moments as an adolescent,
Where you could’ve taught me how to stick out my and chest and stand up for myself instead of,
Reminding a child of their lack of worth in a household so afraid of change,
As I learn my lesson this very day.
The price you pay!
For extending your stay for way too long…

Got me singing the same old song,
Over and over again,
But!
Now that I’m a man cracked out of a shell,
Now sober and over the rest,
Of a family I was never apart of as a loner with more than a pen and page creased by my tears,
Faith & God alleviating my fears,
None of it matters to me as a man no longer saddening to see the word “outcast” as my label.
Because,
I’m a big boy now,
Who doesn’t need to chase clout gassing me for my mind to be stable.
Just me while I grind knowing that I’m able.
Pills,
Alcohol,
Cocaine?
Never is what drives me away from “brothers” that’ll hate you!
Over your decision to be different,
Isolated for a chance to be cradled,
By the palms of success.
Peace.
Happiness,
Raising me out of this Hell…

Just,
Can’t blame me for sticking to myself.
Because,
Any time we talk,
I feel each bit of flame dancing in my pupils.
Sparked by every moment you and others weren’t truthful.
To me,
During circumstances where I needed a friend for love instead of their imminent removal…

Maybe,
One day we can speak without a war ensuing and choose to,
Hug it out.
Sit down,
Have dinner with a few who,
We can share some laughs with rather than fighting over who’s true.
Because,
I am your son,
And,
There’s is nothing that can change that,
Beside some trees and a grave I knew was,
Not the answer.
Whether we like it or not,
Only love can fix this disaster…