Wounded Soul

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
My Life

Submitted: December 24, 2011

A A A | A A A

Submitted: December 24, 2011




It's good to have head and it's good to have heart,
but a balance of both will set you apart.
A good pure heart is what were given at birth,
that comes with empathy for others and a high self worth.

But our hearts get wounded as we grow.
Some remain on the surface and easily show, 
some we hide so deep others will never know.

A heart that’s repeatedly wounded will eventually get hardened.
We put up a wall to keep it tightly guarded.

I've built a thick wall around my heart. 
I became wounded right from the start.
I was only 2 when my parents split apart.

Raised by my mom and evil step dad,
who also came up rough but turned out bitter and mad.

Growing up in a trailer park, the poor kids club.
Where there’s plenty of wounded and not much love.

Abused in every way by my mom, step dad, brother, and peers.
Every night holding myself tight on a pillow full of tears.

Never been tucked in or a bedtime book read. 
No love beyond the basics; clothed, sheltered, and fed.
Constant yelling, fighting, and chaos, are memories of my early past.
Visitations with my dad that never seemed to last.

There were rays of light though in my dark childhood.
Through bad we can always find the good.

In it all I had an angel by my side,
Who through the years would keep my spirit alive.

The reason that I am who I am today.
I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.
It's nice to be able to live with you’re best friend.
I couldn’t imagine growing up without her, how lonely it would have been.

But I would find out post Christmas day.
Fought back against my step dad, and I was sent away. 
What would happen In the following years was completely unforseen.
But it was beyond my control, I was only 13. 
To a shelter home for delinquents, where I was callously told,
"You’re mother doesn’t want you, we’ll find you a new home."
Right there that moment is when my heart began to get cold. 
From there to an overbearing, bible thumping, foster home where I lived a short time.
To a non-caring, system humping, family, just in it for a dime.

No place to call home, I felt so alone,
Treated like a delinquent, like a mini AlCapone.

As my world fell apart I began to get angry and mean,
Inside I was screaming but to no one could I plea.

So confused lost and broken with no way out.
And nobody could understand what I was upset about.

I’m a bad kid is what they would all say.
But I'd cry every night and ask God for the pain to go away.

I started to miss home as bad as I thought it was.
I started to miss the forced I love you’s and the fake church hugs.

But I would never return home to live, and no foster home would take me,
so I moved to a group home for delinquants, just temporarily.

But negetive association and vulnerability are a bad combination.
The innocence I had left was quickly replaced by sin.

I hadn’t seen my family in over a year,
even though I lived at the group home the whole time which was near.

Than I was told my mom was coming for a family visit. Coming to take me away from that place!
I was so excited I could hardly sit. It had been a while since I had a smile on my face.

We all sat in the room my social worker, staff, mom and I.
They told her the improvements I made, and I beamed with pride.

I forgave her for what she’d done, I didn’t even care.
But she never looked at me, not once, never even acknowledged I was there.

She didn’t say anything directly to me, they talked like I was dead
She didn’t come to work things out, but used it as an opportunity to attack me instead.

"I think this place is too nice for him, he should be locked up with other bad kids."
Tears started to fall as I closed my eyelids

Than she got up and walked out the door
I ran to my room and the tears started to pour.
I didn’t want to feel the pain anymore.
Maybe she just didnt know how to forgive
Which is sad, because bitterness always keeps you captive
In my head I went over the things that were said.
another wound, another shred,  another time my heart bled.

I wonder if they could see than what was going on inside me.
They should have, but I doubt it,  few people have real empathy.

We better up the dose was probably their first thought.
Nobody could hear the cries of love and affection that I silently besought.

Maybe they were blind to the pain I was in,
or maybe they didn’t care, after all it was they’re job and I wasn’t they’re kid.

I started to build a wall around my heart one wound at a time,
until nothing could get in, even things that were fine and kind.

Now I begin my journey of reclaiming my heart.
Tearing down the wall that keep me and the rest of the world apart.

It’s a vulnerable feeling to let down you’re guard.
Letting others in can be painful and hard.

It’s a new chapter in my life and in my heart.
I can’t wait until I start to write the next part.


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