I felt the first cracks form nine years after my birth,
The hatred in my father's eyes,
The sorrow in my mother's,
They did not call me son for a long time,
I was threatened with abandonment,
To be orphaned not by circumstance,
But by choice,
So I repented,
and plead,
Seven years passed before I received an apology,
By then the cracks had long since deepened,
For a year had gone by since I had been,
Touched,
My mind began to strain under the weight,
Of trauma,
Ever building ambition,
Pain,
Fear,
Rage,
And every horrible malady the world cursed upon my soul,
Many a scar mar my skin,
Desperate attempts at peace from the demons within,
I now come upon what will be twenty two years since my birth,
And those fractures have become great chasms,
Forever a black sheep straying from flock to flock,
Never to find a home in any of them,
For these fractures took many years to create,
And I fear it will take many more than I have for them to heal.
© With clipped wings