With teary eyes, I write this memoir,
My shaky fingers type this note.
Weak legs, standing on tiled floor,
To write this piece, I mote.
Droplets of tears stain this screen,
I will continue nevertheless.
How I wish I could stop and scream,
The opportunity will come, not just yet.
Everything is a façade,
There is no love at home.
Even if there was, I’ve never had
The chance to feel it alone.
I have been treated inhumanely,
By one of same blood and bone.
Even though he is family,
I shall never call him my own.
His hands have struck my face,
My soul has been bruised countlessly.
The hurt must have me debased,
But I still retain my intractability.
He hits me with no remorse,
Like I’m the embodiment of his problems.
I weep for no just cause,
My head is bowed in solemn.
I am related to a beast.
A walking bag of disaster.
He is a monster, to say the least.
Something no one should look after.
Way too many dents in this heart,
He has left his mark.
It’s a long list, I cannot start,
To see the light within his dark.
I have made up my mind.
No longer will I be called his sibling.
I will live in defiance of the grind.
Do they not understand my feelings?
I seek sequester,
From all of this.
I must find peace.
And so I come to the conclusion,
That love does not exist.
If we live in confusion,
How then can it subsist?
The only immutable solution.
Tall or short or uncanny.
I wouldn’t start a communion.
Don’t try to change my opinion.
All similar creatures are the same.
I do not want a union.
Not even one with a French name.
Both of my hands are held apart.
One in schism, one with strife.
All in a bid to tell you, I’ll play the part
I’ll live like one with life, sad life.
(4 April 2015)