Innocent kid

I was an innocent little kid
My daddy beat me
He loved the bottle not me
I have never been worthy of love
Torment was destined to be my teacher
From the first breath I took in this world
To the very last
I will carry the pain
Guilt
and shame always
It has spread in me
And like cancer, there is no cure
When it has consumed my body I shall die
If only my childhood had been different
I could have been somebody
Done something useful
But all I am now is fucked up and useless
Because
I was an innocent little kid
And my daddy beat me

My Cat

I love my cat
And she died
No simpler words can be spoken
I love my cat
And she died
This song will never leave my lips
I loved my cat
And she died

Egg

It takes 21 days for an egg to hatch. I have cradled an egg in my hand, fragile life in my hands. I've held a warm egg to my ear and heard the chick peeping inside and its mother's answering calls. I've seen the chick use its egg tooth to break away the shell encasing it. After many hours of struggling, I've witnessed it finally break free. I've lovingly placed a chick still soggy from its nutrient sac in my arms. I would stand there breathless, in awe of the miracle of life. On the side of the coin, I seen chicks to weak to break free lie in the shell, chirping frantically. I have helped these chicks out- knowing full well I shouldn't-mother nature has deemed the unfit for survival-only to sit there helpless as the die a few days later anyway. That has taught me a lesson as well. No matter how much I try to interfer with the natural cycle of life and death, things will happen as they are meant to in spite of all my efforts. I accepted the fact that I won't always grasp why nature works the way it does, or why innocent creatures have to die before they even lived. I've come to understand that life and death are unpredictable.

Mouse's Brain (should die)

Uptight, edgy, like a cornered animal with nowhere else to go. My natural state of being no how much I try to alter it. Always paranoid, predicting calamity and judgement day. I figured out the coffee's not blame for me being jittery and jumping out of my skin every time a door slams. No, it's something more. Deep in the inner working of my brain some gear isn't functioning properly, like a badly wound clock that perpetually chimes the wrong hour. What is wrong with me? Why must I lie awake at night and ponder the fears tomorrow brings? Day after day, I dance around like mad with a swollen bladder that threatens to explode, weighing the pros and cons of using the dreaded Public Restroom. In the end, I wait. I always wait, somehow concluding it will become less scary in a few hours when I am truly desperate. When I was a little kid, my mother would watch me hop around while performing the rituals of the pee-pee dance. The she'd proceed to yell "You know your going to give yourself a bladder infection, don't cha? She was right. I did. Mother's always seem to be right. Mine never seemed to understand the dangers I saw lurking behind every corner. Or why I stood paralyzed in indecisive fear because I had already consulted the endless list of scenarios in the given situation and all of them ended with me getting judged or yelled at.My fears are like tree roots burrowing deep into the soil of everyday life
and soaking up nutrients in the form of social situations. They root me in the past, denying the future. One of my biggest fears is that no one will understand my fears and help me overcome them. I will talk to the shrink as I promised. And when I speak, the words leaving my mouth will never reach her ears. They'll be sucked into some dry, cold, infinite vortex in the space between us. My words will turn into worthless jetsam drifting out an eternity in between ocean waves. You can probably tell by now that my analogies are as endless and rambling as my fears. I guess the reason I'm writing this piece is to allow myself to step back and laugh at a lifetime of fear.
Although they're are quite real to me, from an outside perspective they might seem silly and meaningless. A part of me is hoping that writing about it with the lead of this pencil will write away my fears, and this eraser will erase the possibility of being diagnosed as as beyond help, being told I'm crazy and nothing can be done for me. MAYBE.

Crystal fire

This is how it could start
The event that could tear your life apart
Here's the story
It will give you reason to worry
A friend of mine
His life was fine
Until he hung out with the wrong crowd
The voice saying bad idea was loud
He picked up meth
There's a reason it rhymes with death
One of the many who turned to dope
Because he could not cope
An amazing poet
Who could no longer show it
His brain turned to paste
Oh my god! What an awful waste!
His heads was full of words
Floatin free as a bird
But he had ta take it and toke
Filling his body with smoke
By the time he tried to stop
His life was already a flop
Continually wired
Off that crystal fire
He killed all the brillant ideas in head
Stomped em' till all were dead
Now his genius can't show
He chose not to say no
The light in his eyes grew dim
His future looked very grim
Learning to steal
So he'd always have drugs to deal
It took his teeth
Filled his friends with grief
He couldn't do the math
And learn to walk down the right path
The end result from this is he's sorely missed
Lying dead in a pauper's grave
All due to a craving he could not stave
This drug will steal your soul
It all begins with one bowl
I can only only pray
That you don't learn the hard way
Understand this lesson
With drugs don't be messin'
I hope these words you'll take to heart, my friend
The tale is told and now this poem is at its end