...To Blame Society

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

This is a poem I wrote will spending an entire 2 weeks at my dads house, when usually it is a few days, if that. It's pretty much just what was going through my mind at the time as I usually try to stop myself from cutting by writing, when I normally just end up doing both.

Are you really that blind, could you not see the scars? Or are you trying to show me who you really are?

I try to warn and all you do is provoke; I’m stuck in this black cloud of your second hand smoke.

Mom, it’s not your fault, but really Dad? Fuck you. You broke Mom’s heart and ripped mine in two.
You married your “dream girl” after only one year. Yeah I bet you like it, but I hate it here.
No I’m not proud, but I’ll never be ashamed of these cuts on my body. Just know you’re to blame.
I get good grades and play sports, but you wanted more. Well I’m sorry Dad, I liked you better before.
You can take away the razor but my wrists will still bleed. Lighters can be used for more than just weed.
Burn marks are smaller, and easier to hide. Trust me, you can still count on my suicide.
Come on dumb ass, and see what you know; Everyone will eventually end up alone.
I don’t need your shame, I know that you lied. But all I really want is for you to accept me inside.
I realize now that there’s nothing wrong with me. Brought into this world this is how I’m supposed to be.
So where were you when my walls came falling down? You hid in your shame while I stood my ground.
I’m stronger than you and way more mature. I can even hide pain and that you can ensure.
I’m smarter than you think: all honors and IB. But Dad, you still drown me in this man-made agony.
And what pisses me off is I’m stuck in this mask, because I’m too scared to come back from my past.
The laughter, the childhood, where’d the time go? I feel more myself when I’m not the status quo.
Some things are better, like freedom and friends. But what good are people if my world ends?
Why can’t you see what you’ve done all along? You pushed out people you love, now I don’t belong.
Why am I still here, when I’d be better off alone? Nothing’s really worse than living in a broken home.
This house that you tore with my heart on the line; the vision was altered, you thought things were fine.
What you didn’t see was my heart torn to shreds, when you say those two words that everyone dreads.
“You’re wrong”, once again. When will I be right? Why can’t you just drop it and not start a fight?
I think I’m schizophrenic, and possible insane. Voices tell me “do it now” but I won’t play their game.
I’ve grown numb from this pain I’ve grown to know. I want to feel anything like a couple years ago.
It could be pain. It could be fear, or maybe even pride. If I feel anything I’ll know I’m not yet dead inside.
Band-aids hide the scars, but my life’s still a mess. I’ll try to admit it but it’s still hard to confess.
Some nights I sit here and contemplate suicide because killing myself is a simple good-bye.
When will you learn that I’m actually dead? Of coarse I’m still breathing, hanging on by a thread.
There’s nothing left but my heart keeps beating. My eyes are wild but my mind keeps leaving.
It’s like I’ve got a disease without a fucking name. I think I lost myself when I saw what you became.
Back to the childhood, every nursery rhyme. With every game that we played, it’s just too easy to die.
I’m thinking now I want to blame society, for every fear that it’s caused, the pain, anxiety.
Every re-used needle, every shared cigarette is better than making a suicide threat.
You told me before that change is a fear, but I never imagined how much could change in one year.
Lost beneath the skin, but deep inside I’m not insane. Others have it worse, I know I can’t complain.
Don’t say the glass’s half empty, when it’s half full of air. I know life sucks, and I know it’s unfair.
My friends tell me that this all needs to end; the cutting, self-hating life to which I am condemned.
But the only two reasons that I’ll ever stop is for my real family: my sister and mom.
I’ll give then my heart because I know they deserve it. I’d give them my soul, but I already sold it.
Well now I feel like a king who’s been dethroned because I realize now that this house is not a home.
I’ve done pot and vicodin to drown out the pain, but I’m nowhere near just your fucking cruel game.
I’ve pretty much lost all emotional sanity, in this harsh world of accepted profanity.
I can’t believe I stayed so unhappy for so long, and now I ask myself, where the hell did I go wrong?
It’s been said before, “It’s not me, it’s you”. Here it is again because of what I’ve been through;
All the agony, pain, and anticipation, and the waiting of something that you called damnation.
So I guess I’m a fuck-up, the unwanted kid. You’d rather have a fake family than watch me live.
Yeah I play basketball but I’m on the wrong court. Now I’m on your battle field, I know this is no sport.
Can’t you see Dad, that this is a life sentence? To which you condemned me because of their presence.
With wrists locked in hand cuffs, swollen with pain, and small, bloody ankles dragging ball and chain.
Orange jump suit with “JUVI” on the back because of something I did, or something I lack.
Dad, I’d rather be locked up for the rest of my life, than go on living with that whore you call a wife.
I’m sorry I don’t like her, but believe me, I tried. She’s taking over you, do you have any sense of pride?
So here are my options: a noose, and a gun, or a bottle of pills, because right now I’m done.
It’s such a simple question, but the answer is hard, the unknown is written in these wrists so scarred.
So what will you pick: let me die and be free, or let me live in this life only to blame society?


Submitted: June 25, 2011

© Copyright 2021 NeverAshamed. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Brian W

So sad I am so sorry for what you are going through..reading this brought a lump to my throat....I hope you continue to write to get these emotions out...Good flow and rhyme and your emotions in this are overflowing....

Fri, July 8th, 2011 12:50am

Author
Reply

Thank you so much for your support and kind words. It really means a lot to me. Especially coming from someone who is a father. As you can see all I've known in my father is not great, and this gives me hope that not all fathers treat their family this way.

Thu, July 7th, 2011 6:30pm

Sophia C.H. Stella

I know exactly how you feel. I am also in the I.B. system. But still, both me and all of my friend have problems with their fathers. This poem was truly inspirational to me. Maybe we could talk and you could tell me some coping mechanisms.

Thu, December 21st, 2017 6:57pm

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