Social situations are awkward at best.
I stand and listen, I don't know what to say or do.
I try my best to be receptive.
But some screws are loose.
You want me to talk about things?
Where do I start?
What do I say?
I try my best to remember everything you say.
Argue, bicker, fight.
Same conversation
I try my best
I try

I know I'm difficult
So it's all okay
Every invisible second
Every pain washed away
I didn't tell you how mean they were
When you punished me
And never them
I would be grim
When I would get pushed
On the sharply laid rocks
lie and say I did it
to me
That seemed a more likely possibility
Any crime committed
Every atrocity found
I was surely to blaim
I never complained or wondered why
Maybe that's why I believed
It's always me.
It's okay
You didn't know
I turned into a chameleon
You couldn't see
What I did to them
They'd done to me
But
To you I will ALWAYS
Be
The problemed child

I want to be the child she wished me to be;
But they won't let me and keep on haunting me;
Bad habits are what they are called;
Having spread their roots deep within, holding me taut.

Am I thinking of myself too highly;
If I say this whole precious day was wasted on me solely;
Wow nonsense! You have a brain fog, you cannot even think clearly.

Writing poems and stories, maybe you should just give up;
'Cause you're not confident or talented enough to write about important issues and real stuff;
Can you understand your own self?
Will you ever figure out or do you need help?

I don't even know, if I'm good at anything at all;
A single achievement or moment of pride, can you recall?

Stop the abstract and actual stabbings;
They'll just hurt in vain, and are not acknowledged to be actually punishing.

Lousy rhymes, lame lines, lazy you;
I just cannot understand, no matter how much I try to.

The rustic sheet of a door screams as we pull it like a scab
We step inside this warehouse can
Two floors - we're holding hands
His eyes lit like a crescent Moon - excited, he yells "daaad!"

Our head, like swaying swing
We see it all, tongue in cheek
Like controls without the freak
It's so much fun it stings

An asymmetric wasteland
Convenient and distorted
The walls - bleak and boarded
A symbolic sleight of hand

This is where we feel
My father's on the catwalk
Like paranoia paraphernalia
My son's grip tightens, it's the only thing that's real

Absolute felicity
To realize what I have in the confines of my hand
Imperfection in the making - he doesn't understand
Skylarking permissably

A reverie to remember
His smile - sifting through his eyes
Warm, he maneuvers like the flies
He was born in December

Moving closer to my father
He's amidst the in-between
Consistently foreseen
His motion is no bother

He steps along the ply
Somehow keen in his demeanor
Four-years-old, but greener
Tossed and turning - it's the gleaner

The sheet has been disturbed
He's falling to his death
I'm blanketed in sweat
This cannot be deserved

My father's eyes - they match my own
I tear through the distance
Foreseeing and consistent
My father is a witness

The fear - he's fighting falling
We've never known it more
His tiny hands just wishing there were nails
Collective - we're losing all things

I grasp a finger as he falls but not enough to bring him back
My son approaches pavement as it fills my throat the same
I look him in the eyes as they melt away in pain
My body wakes without my mind - hysterically screaming  "DAAAD!"