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The Making Of Me

Poetry By: dibbledabble
Poetry


This is not pretty, flowing or clever, it is just me picking at a festering sore. I put the persons name in the poem several times, but could not bring myself to leave it in. One day I might but I am fearful of when I do.
I guess this is just another step forward in coming to terms with my life. I'm not even sure what I have writen is coherent.


Submitted:Dec 20, 2011    Reads: 19    Comments: 7    Likes: 4   


The Making of Me

Why am I this? Why am I me?

I did not ask, I did not see

I wish I were the master of me

But this will never be

The path I walked eroded under my feet

Chipped away by the ghouls of my passed

Ever onward searching for something left behind

No hope of retrieving what has been lost

The key that will open the truth box

It was not my hand that erased my past

Another's self-interest did that

Anchorless am I, cut adrift, no cargo of childhood dreams

A ghost ship of childhood screams.

You damaged the real me and covered your tracks

Like ink on blotting paper obliterated the facts

What did you take? What can't I see?

Why do I now feel so much pain with in me?

Did you observe as I grew I was incomplete?

Did you know I would eventually crumble?

Did you not worry that I would stumble and fall?

I have to question, did you really ever care at all?

Was it for me to connect?

I did not know that's what you expect

You taught me to be cool and removed

Emotions against you, useless tools

Your emotions untrustworthy

Narcissistic and cruel

So when I fail in my quest

When I lose all self-respect

What will you say, what will you do?

What will you honestly feel?

Will you recognize you are the making of me?





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