My birth was the beginning of a horror story.
I can remember only the sound of screaming
As my body was carried around like some
Flesh bag that was limp and unknowing.
The world was dark then.
No memories.
But I remember screaming for help,
Possibly because I had an inkling of
Who I would become, who I'd understand.
I have wondered if the dreaming
Was then, if I had such demons in
My soul that I was screaming for a
Premature death.
But it never came.
It never will, I feel.
I wonder if Z was there,
The future in my eyes, maybe,
Because something inside was wrong.
When I was born, I must've known
That this is not a happy ending.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PoesíaI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
