Broken, Like Most Things

.. Momma always told me, “We can't have anything pretty, because of you!" Goddamn, if that's not the truth, as ruthless as it sounds. This phrase abounds; the epitome of my every frown. A curse, but worse, with every word it hurts so much. I've lost the nerve I used to have to laugh it off, fake a cough to clear my throat..

 

I choke.

Gasp.

Grasp.

Nope.

 

Shattered, battered confidence.

Rattled, fragile innocence.

 

The notion floats atop the oceans inside my head. “Welcome to the fold," they said. Thrown into the deep end, knowing full and well I can't swim. Not equipped with the proper tools, I grew to appreciate the role of a fool. Learned how to walk across the bottom of the pool - so cool. Those cruel kids in school never knew what I could do!

 

No self awareness.

No fucks given; careless.

No permanent home.

No places to go.

I made friends with the pavement.

 

Carried the weight in my bookbag, too sad to let the straps take some slack. Looking back, I felt this was the only purpose that I had. Survival mode, bitter cold, forever mad as hell.

 

Did I deserve this?

No child ever does.

I still believe anything I'll reach out to touch will disintegrate and turn to dust.

 

I carved the words “fucked up" in my own right knee, at age 14, to remind myself what I'll always be. There was no deceit, as the emotion came pouring down my cheeks. Clover tattoo says, “Born to Lose" in plain sight for all the world to see.

 

Without further ado, I introduce you to me. My name is Michael, and I'm broken, like most things.

[1] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/44n26p/empty_sparks_around_kurts_spine/) [2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/44gnh6/crumbling_friendship/czq4wg9?context=3)