blooms

I Am A Man

Everything changed when she came into my life.

She was nice to me,

even treated me like her own child, at first.

She looked like a kind, nice woman;

her rosy cheeks,

her long blonde hair

and blue eyes signified it.

Her features weren't a sign of kindness,

but a sign of danger.

Her rosy cheeks

were out of anger.

Her blonde hair

was stringy and frizzy from stress.

Her blue eyes were icicles

that shot into my soul.

Her daggers would stab,

and stab,

and stab some more.

Time went by

and every time I bled,

the scabs grew on tougher.

At one point I got strong enough,

I stabbed her

and those who hurt me alongside her.

In response,

she cut me out of her life.

I was more than okay with that,

except for the fact

she took my other half,

my father.

But now,

I'm my own man.

I'm not a girl anymore;

I'm not a boy anymore either.

I'm a man,

and no one but me sees it.

My features were kind once,

but now they've been

damaged and callused.

All I learned from her

was that I'm stronger

than I thought,

and that she's

the weak one.

I am the fury.

I am the peace.

I am the balance.

I am me,

and I don't need anyone else

to help me or tell me

who I am.

I know who I am damned well,

and who I am is a man.