Intertwined Mishaps

Ripped from the womb cold air upon my skin
A child born in love, a child born in sin
Crying to return to the safety of my hole
Crying for redemption for my forsaken soul
The pain of the world was thrust upon me
They held open my eyelids forcing me to see
I didn’t want to believe in a world so filled up with hate
A world living on luck instead of glorious fate
I buried my head deep, deep underground
No sights to see, no smells to smell, my ears never filled with sound
Solitude was my prison and my prison was my home
My home was my safety and my safety an observation dome
To observe the thoughts within my brain
The thoughts, the ticking, the inane
Sounds that go through a mind, a fragile mind
A child’s thoughts that were deaf, that were lame, that were blind
Folded hands on bended knees
A bowed head, stale bread, rosaries
A man blowing smoke into your pores
Holy water flooding, spilling out the doors
There due to tradition, due to cowardice, due to obligation
Listening to the words I didn’t believe, listening but no real concentration
I am a stranger among the blood coursing through my own veins
Locked up by the need to please, bounded spiritually by chains
A crucifix around my neck and bitter wine between my lips
I break away from their grasp, I break away from their grips
I am them and they are me but we have followed different streams
Our tradition, thanks to me, is ruined so it seems
Ripped from the womb cold air upon my skin
A child born in love, a child born in sin

I am mute
I am deaf
I am blind
I am lame
I remember
Not one thing
Not even
My name
I grasp
At straws
Invisible
To me
I grasp
At a life
That can
Never be