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Here I continue to write these never ending poems,
About some guy I never knew,
Someone I'll probably never really care about,
Because apparently:
It's still not out of my system.

I don't know how many more
Verses or lines this will take,
To pour this all away from my insides,
So I'm sorry if your sick
Of me constantly plastering this everywhere.
You're probably wondering how I'm still not over it,
Because every collection that I have,
Nowadays this always seems to get in somewhere.

I even dedicated a whole project to it,
Some kind of twisted devotion because I thought it might help,
They say I've had too much dissociation.
Those contradicting professionals,
Say this isn't good enough either:
I'm just not doing something right,
And my agony is wrong;
I'm not doing traumatic recovery right,
Even though if you ask me, there hasn't been any "trauma".

If you're sick of it,
I understand.
I'm sick of it too,
But keeping this inside,
It just won't do,
But I'm still told I'm not
Releasing my anguish anyway.
This is truly how I feel right now.
How to find an absent parent:
Step one: mention it to family,
Listen to them tell you how ****** up that person is.
The third step is: believe them.

Four: you get through your childhood and into being a teenager,
Also classified as a troubled youth,
Because, come on, no one gets to eighteen having escaped being mentally *******.

Step five, this is where it gets messy.
This day was always going to come,
It's the day you considered looking, you make a start of it too.

The sixth comes slowly,
Maybe a year later after things have finally calmed down
In this complex situation,
You get some kind of response.

Number seven, you start to question things.
Eight: now you question everything.
You officially realise almost everyone is a liar.

Nine, someone else comes along to make you confused,
You conflict yourself so much as if it's good news.
Ten is where you welcome back the mixed emotions you've had the whole way through,
Except now they're amplified by tenfold,
Have fun getting through!

Eleven: you get some answers that half work to your advantage,
Yet still tell you absolutely nothing,
And now you're back to how you felt before;
Longing for the opposite outcome;
To have someone that cares.

Step twelve is where you're at right now,
You're absolutely horrified,
Do you look once more,
Open your soul up to people,
So that they can tear it up again?
Ask if you can become their slave,
So that you get the chance to feel their mass rejection of you?

This whole way through,
You question, do you want to know who made you?
Are you really sure that you want to find out what disgusting genes exist within you?
By searching I feel like
I'm begging for a family,
Trying to tell someone they have to have me,
But they made me lonely.
Why should I fall to the feet of people,
Who do not deserve me?
Who purposely removed me?

Sometimes I wonder if I really want it,
I inform myself I know I don't need it,
I recite how it won't make it better,
Instead the discomfort will fester
And I won't be able to hide,
I'll be unable to make it go away:
And that's my biggest fear.

I've learnt by now,
How scary it is, when it comes around
To asking for things;
Carrying out the consequences.
By the time I get what I thought I wanted,
I no longer desire for it:
Instead I've put myself in Hell,
A place where I've backed myself into a corner:
And I'll never find an escape.

Somehow that storm has past:
I've survived, I'm still alive
But after that I'm back to needing.
Needing things to be okay,
Realising what I've missed out on,
All over again,
Yet I'm too scared to find it,
Because of how terrorising
It was the last time,
That I almost found what I've
Always been waiting for.

What I can't handle is,
Providing someone with my weaknesses.
This is one of the things
That could really hurt me,
And I'd be screaming it at the top of my lungs,
To some stranger that I've
Never heard of.

Eventually, every now and then,
The time comes around,
When I'd like to give in.
I'll just try, this one more time,
Maybe it won't be so bad,
Maybe one day if I do this it won't make me sad.

There's always this one thing
I don't understand:
Is how this makes people so **** happy.
It's like a celebration, a liberation.
Why are they so happy,
To find people who treated them like ******* before they really even existed?
They spent their whole life without them,
Because they simply gave them up
And I don't care about the so called "reasons",
For me it's just not good enough,
And then they're so happy to get the chance,
To discover them.

Can't they see it how I do?
They got rid of you,
They didn't want you before you even had the chance
To do anything wrong.
How can you look at,
Or hear of
Your own flesh and blood
And decide to get rid of it,
Like an old worn out rug?

So tell me, why should I live for,
Someone else who doesn't give a toss,
Who goes on with everything else,
While I grew up.
Do you know what it's like,
Being the kid in the playground,
Surrounded by their friends with their parents,
Whilst you're there with no father or mother in sight?
Do you know what it's like,
To cry at night saying you miss someone,
Someone you have never known,
Because you didn't understand,
That you can't miss a privation;
You can't miss what's never been there,
Because you're too young?
Do you have a clue,
What it feels like, to wonder why you weren't good enough,
To even have a ****** father?
Why you couldn't have a father at all?

But children are resilient,
You'll be happy to know,
So you get through all that,
Like it's nothing at all.
Then for some reason,
It all crushes you when you least expected it,
You see you've been apathetic, not caring about it.
Then one day you wake up,
And your whole life evolves around it,
Almost like an obsession that you can't stop,
You're sure it hits you harder than before,
With no visible cause, and you can't gather why
This suddenly matters so much now,
But it just does.

They may have gotten rid of you,
Before they had the chance to see you breathe,
That's not important though,
Because you'll suffer all the same,
With constant thoughts after you're sure you have escaped.
You'll wonder why they're so inexcusable
And so dissolute.
You'll ask yourself what you should do,
And in this society, many people think it's great, they think it's fun to find out
Just exactly who left you, who ditched you, who made sure you didn't even know their name,
Thinking about it will make you feel enraged,
Disgusted, but all the same:
These thoughts,
They will never seem to go away.
I feel this pain
And capture it
But I still can't let it go,
And it hurts in my chest
No matter how many times,
I catch my breath

Where were you then,
Where are you now?
I want to erase this past,
And start all again
So it can be
Just how I wish it was.

Maybe if you just found me a little bit sooner,
It might feel better
Than it does right now,
Except you still haven't found me,
And I don't think you're even
Looking.
Am I supposed to be hoping,
You know nothing about me
At all?
Truth be told
I'm terrorised with fear,
Because I'm not about to get a father,
I know I'll get a nightmare.
I don't want to enter the place, again,
Where I wish I could go back to my dreams,
To try to make it all better,
Because the reality will be painfully in front of me
And I'll never be able to make it disappear.
My death will be liberating.

And I do not say that in the sense
that I am going to find a cliff
and take a good jump off.

No.

I am just trying to find a
clever way to tell you

that I do not know what is going
to happen next.

You see,

there is a
fine line
between
dreaming and
mortality

and

I am finding out for myself
that being in love
does not always
involve

being awake.

And for my sake
I fall in love with daydreams,
nightmares,
hazy realities
and

the hung-over idea

of not being enough.

It is all out of my hands.
                 It is all out of time.

And the only thing I have left to do,
now,


is decide.
Thank you to anyone that reads this.
His loved ones wait,
Praying and hoping for his pain to be comforted and relieved.
Yet they don't want to say goodbye,
He's not sure he's ready to leave this world,
With so much left to do,
So many more decades of life left to be lived and savoured.
Too young to be taken,
From their loving arms,
They stay by his side and watch
As he slowly elapsed into nothing.
Fiction: not derived from personal experience.
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