A book of poems, songs, and short stories .

why

Listen for once as I speak, as I talk, or as you read along.
Any way is fine with me. As long as you listen.
I yearn to be heard, that's all I want. 
That's why I’m standing up here in the front,
Though I may stutter and repeat.
Know that it’s because I'm not used to being allowed to speak.
And I'm getting cold feet.
Most hear little of what I have to say and ignore,
But no more. Now it's finally my turn. My turn to talk and your turn to listen
I mean to tell you I'm never what I seem, there's a reason I act so differently,
I'm going to tell you what happened to me. You'll treat and see me differently
But please no pity, because feelings are icky.
When I first heard the news, This year's theme is memory.
Interesting topic for some, but for me, it's a repeat of all I've done.
But what counts as a memory? I guess it's up to me.
Should I write about my past with a story that alludes to it and all I've been through.
I've done it before so it should be easy besides it comes naturally.
No, I want to try to do this differently, I crave something new. 
I think it's time to expose myself. No more eluding. No more stories.
Let's go back now to a time when all was fine.
Listed back from ten to five.
10 Before a found family.
9 Before healing, before love.
8 Before help, before abandonment.
7 Before knowing what was done.
6 Before the pain, before the blood.
5 Before the change, before the rings.
4 Before the look of disgust, before the introduction
Back all the way to 3 and a half years of age. That's when it all began.
When I started becoming who I am.
A messed up proud weirdo who has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge
Which often leads me to wonder, and that wonder, sometimes, leads to trouble
But that's besides the point, let's continue. Where was I? Oh right, 3 and a half.
That's where we were last. He loved me, I thought but something was off.
A car ride held the answer. One that required me to be on my best behavior.
A teenage girl and a woman? No, a sister! and a mother.
Both of whom I could get love, even though not blood.
At least that's what I thought.
How naive was I?  I ignored all the signs.
I mean the woman wouldn’t even look me in the eye.
But the sister even though 15, My sister, she included me in everything.
I would learn when I got older that she was one of more to come.
But back to the woman, Things started to change when she moved in but I was fine with it.
Even when I was hit. After that the pain began.
Nothing I did was ever right. Nothing I did was ever fine.
Never be enough, not good enough, useless, stupid,
disappointment, horrible child, And worthless. Those were the harsh words I had to live with.
They drove me deeper into repression of my emotions in order to please them.
I never knew it wasn’t normal to be able to do so, on command.
It was revealed to me at only ten years of age, when my life was uprooted and rerooted in place. That insanity can be embedded in the brain, inherited they say, and it can not be helped.
I'll just have to learn to act because I'll never be like everyone else.
But please, now that you know, don’t look at me with fear. Hollywood isn’t all that real.
My prognosis simply means my spectrum of emotions is duller than most.
I lack empathy, but yet I'm more empathetic than most.
I think that's because I had to learn how to empathize.
But back to my life and out of my brain
She changed him I would later realize. He who loved me no longer, could I recognize.
Cruel was he, yet I still blamed me.
At least, until nine. A sleepover is what changed my mind.
Imagine how confused I was, when there was no shouting, there was no blood.
No pain, no anger, no rage, no doubt, no blame. Just love
I was in denial for a while, because how was I to believe? So I excused.
But the more I stayed the less I could dispute. Until I could no longer do so and I sought help. Help came but justice did not. Abandoned at 4 winds again, 4th time I'd been.
Then another life, more moving, healing, death and court. Until we're back here in the present.
If you looked at me would you have ever thought.
I try my best to be nicer than those around me, for nice was something never offered to me.
I’m accepting having never been accepted. I’m forgiving, having never been forgiven.
I keep my grades up in school. To not live up to those cruel words.
I look after the young and I feel responsible for them. I want to shelter them from wrong. Because I know how it feels. I've seen the worst but I try to make the best.
Don’t you see, my memories are the reason why.
They fuel me to try.