Made For You

Status: Finished

Made For You

Status: Finished

Made For You

Poem by: parkelis

Genre: True Confessions

Houses:

Poem by: parkelis

Details

Genre: True Confessions

Houses:

Summary

Some say to ignore. Escapism - find your own path in life. That doesn't work. Others advocate to help. The people I try to help aren't looking for help. That doesn't work, either. At this point, all I can do I pray. But what if that doesn't help? What do you do, as a child, to help your parents?

Summary

Some say to ignore. Escapism - find your own path in life. That doesn't work. Others advocate to help. The people I try to help aren't looking for help. That doesn't work, either. At this point, all I can do I pray. But what if that doesn't help? What do you do, as a child, to help your parents?

Content

Submitted: July 27, 2011

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Content

Submitted: July 27, 2011

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I… was made for you.
You… were made for me.
And, I never did ponder the possibility
Of anything else.
But, now that I have,
I know so well, so clearly,
The prayer I must impose upon you. 
It’s sickening to the ears.
Utterance of the word is awful inherently,
Disturbingly disgusting.
Even more awful is to allow life
To the thought,
But as I’ve pondered the attractive possibility
Of a one-day, not too far off,
Exultation in the rich joys of life-
A distinct happiness-
I now know I need elation
Within the hoary tragedy
I incessantly endure. 
Fallen upon my knees,
I pray for you to-
Please sit back, brace yourself-
I pray for you to leave.
What do I mean?
Don’t leave me.
Don’t ever feel obligated
To live a single instance
Without me. 
But enough is enough, when it comes to…
I can’t take any more. 
Nights are filled with destructive wars,
Over the same damn things.
I’ve heard the stories
Play on and on;
Your actions become a scene
In a play I could, by now, recite to you. 
Mornings are filled with turmoil and tension,
Both cut by the slicing of my breakfast
With a butter knife,
Already butchering the opportunity
At fresh beginnings and optimistic outlooks. 
Car rides are a sloppy stew of hushed silence
And then abrupt phone calls
To the ones on your respective sides,
With listeners holding closely onto ever word
Of the soap-opera, drama-filled
Narratives of yesterday, yesteryear,
And all the times
Of terrible occurrences inflicted solely upon you-
Without ever explicitly
Speaking of the things you, yourself, have done,
Or the ones you’ve hurt. 
I’ve skated in figure eights
Around what I want to say.
Jailed.  Twice.
Scandals that would even shame
The Tiger, himself.
Broken plates,
Broken wine bottles,
Leaving the red stains
Of a heart whose pieces can never be
Put back together.
Glass remnants on the floor
Are also accompanied by
The bloody footprints of a child
Walking on eggshells,
Feeling no safety,
At home. 
The child, I,
Flounder,
Within a sea of neglect,
Before being entirely lost. 
I’ve witnessed it all,
And too much more.
Enough’s enough.
I’m tired of partaking
In your games at life.
I pray for you to leave:
Divorce.
Leave each other;
Love me,
Unconditionally,
But separately,
If only, to allow reigning happiness
In my worldly kingdom.
This is my farewell elegy-
My sort of goodbye-
To the bonds amidst
The ones who brought me here;
This is my greetings card-
My sort of hello-
To a chance at betterment.


© Copyright 2016 parkelis. All rights reserved.

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